


London Calling

by mific



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Action, Drama, Fanfiction, M/M, Romance, Slash, punk London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Punk London and Sirius and Remus are flatmates. Frustrated by his lack of progress with Remus, Sirius becomes the lead singer in a Punk band, and Remus the librarian lusts from the sidelines. But wait, there's more. A West Indian friend with witchy connections and an ample supply of ganja, and Death Eaters in Camden hatching a dastardly plot against Punk Muggle London. Will our heroes save the day and find each other in the process? Read on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: thanks to westwardlee.  
> This was written for Big Bang Blackout, a 2009 Sirius Black extravaganza.  
> Epithamium did some great art for the story - it's over [here at Deviantart](http://alirodina.deviantart.com/art/London-Calling-137955204)  
> Contains: Safety pins through ears. Loud music. Explicit slash.  
> Apologies to at least two other bands who either are or were out there, with the same name as Sirius' punk ensemble. No offence intended.

 

Sirius hunched over the bar at the Leaky Cauldron drinking Firewhisky and drawing lopsided pentagrams in spilled ale on the counter-top.

Tom the barman was giving him a wide berth other than filling drinks orders; he'd seen Sirius' moods before and knew better than to give him any excuse to erupt. It was a few months however since Sirius had last been banned for some row with an ex-Slytherin that had left Tom scraping toad entrails and bat's blood off the furniture.

Sirius stared moodily into the flickering amber depths of his glass, brooding on the argument with Remus about leaving his dirty socks lying around the lounge which had driven him out of their flat in search of liquid comfort. How in hell had things with Remus become so tense, and why did Remus make him feel like a loaded gun all the time?

Being unemployed was taking a toll, for one. He needed something productive to do and Moody kept fobbing him off whenever he tried to put himself forward for missions with the Order. They had all graduated from Hogwarts almost a year ago, and Sirius couldn't see why Moody didn't just let him join the fight against You-Know-Who without further ado instead of muttering about a "probationary period" and keeping the Marauders "in reserve".

Probably because I'm a fucking _Black_ he thought viciously, hatred for his family welling up again as he knocked back the liquor and signalled Tom impatiently for a refill by tapping the sticky glass sharply on the stained oak bar. Hadn't he always been loyal to his friends? To Gryffindor and then, ever since they'd been recruited, to the Order? Just because his inbred gits of pureblood relatives had all been in Slytherin didn't mean he'd gone over to the Dark side with sodding Voldemort as well.

He'd known that it would be hard to adjust after Hogwarts but he hadn't reckoned on missing his schooldays quite so fiercely. He wondered where he had been a year ago. Probably plotting some mischief with his friends in their dorm or a corner of the Gryffindor common room, or warm in the kitchens, wheedling pasties out of the house elves. Or somewhere in the dusty tunnels and secret passages that the Marauders knew so well. Hogwarts had been his kingdom; he knew it intimately and had been happy there for the first time in his life – happy and accepted. He'd had status, been one of the cool kids, notorious and attractive with his "bad boy" reputation. And he'd made full use of it, flirting and toying with a series of partners – girls at first, then more recently, boys. He'd felt like a king at Hogwarts, secure in his inner circle, taking his pleasures where he chose.

But even a year ago it had been changing, if he were honest. James had drifted away from the Marauders, obsessed with Lily as she finally responded to his clumsy advances and the two of them spun into a tight mutual orbit, oblivious to others, the intensity of their infatuation shutting out even Sirius, James' closest friend. He didn't like to remember how much that had hurt and how he'd resented Lily, even disrupting some of James and Lily's early trysts with pranks until James got him in a head lock and threatened very seriously to turn his balls into hedgehogs unless he desisted. And James was very gifted at Transfiguration.

Losing James should have made him draw closer to Peter and Remus but somehow it hadn't gone that way. Pete was an odd bloke, and frankly, if he hadn't been sorted to Gryffindor and ended up in their dorm room, Sirius wondered if they'd have had much in common. He was clever enough, and had carved himself a role as a willing prankster with a sharp sense of humour – the comic dwarf and court jester of the Marauders. There were times though when Sirius had caught him unguarded for a second and seen a flash of something darker under the cheerful, teasing exterior. Something unpleasant – anger perhaps, or envy. Never for long enough to be sure about it and it was uncomfortable to consider so in his usual style he'd ignored it and kept things friendly and jocular on the surface. But it _was_ mostly surface with Peter – that was the problem. He still dropped over for a beer and a chat since they'd left school but the old camaraderie was hard to maintain and it felt a bit forced.

Then there was Remus: Remus was a completely different problem. Sirius wasn't sure what to do about Remus any more, it was too confusing. Remus brought out all his protective instincts but he was so damn stubborn! Sirius didn't give a shit about the werewolf problem – he'd been shocked when he first discovered it of course, they all were. But Remus was his Hogwarts brother, part of the first real family Sirius had ever known, and he was just a bloody nice person. James could be a right prick, Peter was a bit slippery, and Sirius freely admitted that he was a complete bastard himself, but Remus genuinely liked people and meant well. It was bloody tragic that of all of them he'd been infected with lycanthropy – keeping him from the closeness to others that came naturally to him, forcing him to be solitary and cautious, a survivor and observer. If the werewolf curse hadn't already forced eleven year old Remus to develop unusual reserves of courage, Sirius thought that the Hat would have sorted him into Hufflepuff.

Sirius remembered how Remus had comforted him when he'd finally rebelled against his family and left home in a desperate state, hunched into himself with his mother's hysterical threats and curses ringing in his ears. James' parents had taken him in but it was Remus who had lain in his bed at night and held him after he woke from the nightmares – nightmares where he wandered in a frozen wasteland, alone, unable to remember his name or who he was. He would jerk awake moaning in fear, cold tears on his cheeks, and Remus would get out of the other bed in the Potters' guest room and slip under the covers with him, pulling him into his arms and stroking his hair, murmuring vague soothing noises until Sirius relaxed back into sleep, head in the crook of Remus' neck, his nose buried in Remus' thick, fur-like brown hair.

Hair that drove Sirius wild, running in a soft tapering ridge from the nape of Remus' neck down his spine to half-way between his shoulder-blades like a damn reverse happy trail. One time he had let Sirius stroke it, seeming to enjoy the petting until Sirius ran his hand up the wrong way against the lie of the fur, making it stand on end as Remus growled helplessly, deep in his throat. It had been incredibly exciting but it had freaked Remus out and he'd rolled away immediately, muttering "Don't…" The wolf scared Remus – he hated it. Sirius found it a complete turn-on but he could never let Remus know that – he'd have been disgusted.

Fuck. He was getting hard just thinking about Remus and his damn twin trails of fur. Sirius knocked back more Firewhisky, hoping it would distract him from his constant preoccupation. Sweet Remus, shy Remus, unavailable Remus. Tantalising Sirius ever since he'd been a confused, horny teenager who was already finding girls oddly complicated.

But then, with a mother like his, and Lily stealing James from him, perhaps it wasn't surprising that his main reaction to all those nubile young witches' flirting advances had been irritation and anxiety. He knew he was _supposed_ to like girls and at first he'd assumed it was normal adolescent nerves – all his friends were unsure as well, covering it up with bluff obscenities and misinformation from porn or older brothers. Sirius could fit in with that and he'd tried to be normal, groping giggling Hufflepuffs in dark alcoves and dating the occasional more sophisticated Ravenclaw. Breasts had been a problem though. He knew blokes were supposed to be mad for them but they left him cold, squashy and disturbingly mammalian. Sirius shuddered lightly and took another drink.

Then there was Circe Parkinson, a blonde from Slytherin who'd almost pushed his buttons until he realised that he was only attracted to her because her cutting wit and cruel edge reminded him vaguely of the home he'd lost. And the shockingly direct fantasies of pain and domination she whispered in his ear while touching him were worryingly arousing. She was the only girl he'd been able to get it up for, and only because she'd given fantastic head, making him sag against the wall of the dimly lit Charms storage cupboard, weak-kneed and trembling, his eyes closed as he pictured Remus kneeling in her place, his wide mouth wet and hot on Sirius' cock, his muscular tongue swirling around the shaft as his long fingers explored Sirius' arse. Gasping Remus' name when he came during that final blow-job had been a mistake of course, and that was the last he'd seen of Circe. At least she hadn't blackmailed him afterwards, so small mercies there.

He gave up on girls after Circe and experimented with a couple of boys instead, to see if he was generally gay or it was a Remus-specific thing. It was definitely more fun than with girls. He liked the muscles and the roughness and the lack of that unpleasant squishiness, but it was all a bit mechanical and held none of the heart-thudding thrill he felt even brushing against Remus on the stairs. But mutual hand-jobs behind the shrivelfigs in Greenhouse One on a Sunday afternoon with a handsome Chaser from the Ravenclaw team at least provided some release, and Simon, a Hufflepuff prefect, gave him a blow-job in the Owlery one night that was almost as good as Circe. Not quite, but it was easier to imagine he was Remus. They were always Remus when he closed his eyes.

Remus had to know how he felt, but he was so caught up with feeling bad about the whole sodding werewolf thing that he never responded to Sirius' low key flirtation and hints. He couldn't be that bloody naive, he just couldn't – surely? Sirius hadn't been gross about it, he could sense that it wouldn't take much to scare Remus away and he was desperate not to lose his friend – the only real friend and brother remaining to him, now that James was living with Lily and Peter was back at his parents' place.

Sirius and Remus had moved into the flat together after James and Lily married, a few months ago. Sirius could have gone on living with the Potters and Remus could have stayed at home with his parents, but neither of them wanted that. The Potters were happy for him to stay but it didn't feel right with James gone, and Remus was quietly determined to leave home and live independently. As usual it was Remus who'd made sensible plans and been practical, while Sirius moaned about James deserting them and spent hours in the Potters' back shed fixing up an old motorbike he'd bought impulsively after seeing a scrawled cardboard sign tacked to some bloke's letterbox. He did manage to restore the motorbike and charm it to fly in the end, but he could see now that he'd thrown himself into the bike project as a way of coping with feeling abandoned by James.

Meanwhile, Remus had patiently answered advertisements and eventually found a small flat above a second-hand clothing shop in Charing Cross Road, a short walk from the Leaky Cauldron. It was a Muggle flat, the landlords near Diagon Alley having not been impressed by a tall, thin, battered-looking youth just out of school and with no references or visible means of support. And Remus had come to realise that a wizarding landlord would figure out the nature of his tenant after a few moon cycles, so eviction would have been inevitable. Remus' mum was a Muggle so he could manage electrical equipment like the fridge and toaster, even the dangerous-looking old gas water-heater in the bathroom that ate twenty-pence coins like chocolate frogs. Sirius still had difficulties with all things Muggle and was forever having to repair damaged appliances after he'd unthinkingly charmed them instead of pushing their baffling levers or buttons. He was forbidden from using the cooker or any gas heaters at all without Remus standing over him.

Sirius sighed and bought another drink and a bag of self-shelling Brazil nuts from Tom. He amused himself by waiting for the thick shell to crack open neatly in the palm of his hand, then levitating the kernel above his head with a quick "_Leva Nux_", tilting his neck back to catch the nut in his teeth when it plummeted down after he'd muttered "_Finite_". The firewhiskies had taken their toll however and he abandoned the game after almost choking on a nut that his slowed reflexes failed to intercept accurately.

He ran his hands though his dishevelled hair. He'd been so fed up with it this morning he'd hacked it off roughly using a cutting hex and it was now only a few inches long. Remus had been furious, berating him for "wallowing in self-pity". Remus knew that he tended to cut his hair short when he was feeling low, although why it mattered to Remus was a complete fucking mystery really; it wasn't as though he was longing to run his fingers through Sirius' shoulder-length tresses after all. _Yeah, fat chance,_ thought Sirius bleakly.

Oh Merlin, moving into the flat with Remus had probably been a really bad idea in retrospect, but they'd both been so excited at the time. Remus was proud to have found the place, showing it off to Sirius in all its cramped, dingy splendour. From the first floor landing you stepped straight into a combined lounge-kitchen, and two tiny bedrooms little bigger than broom cupboards led off the main room. The bathroom and toilet were across the landing, shared by the other tenant on their floor, a Jamaican Muggle accountant called Winston. He seemed a nice enough bloke, although Sirius did wonder if he was really a Muggle as he seemed to burn some sort of herbs most evenings, the pungent resinous smell drifting from under his door to perfume the landing. But Remus had said Muggles sometimes did that and he didn't think Winston was casting a spell.

Money wasn't a problem for Sirius as uncle Alphard had left him enough to get by, but Remus was proud and perpetually skint, so he found himself a job at the local Muggle library. It paid a pittance but was enough to cover Remus' share of the rent. Sirius was unhampered by any such work ethic, but he did care what Remus thought of him. Very much. So he felt that he should find some sort of gainful employment as well, to win Remus' approval. At first he'd assumed that finding work would be a doddle, approaching it with his usual breezy nonchalance, but it had been far harder than he'd thought.

He'd offered "Exciting Excursions" on the flying motorbike but there hadn't been many takers across the winter months and wizarding businesses didn't need motorcycle couriers: they just flooed documents and supplies to and fro. Then Sirius got a job at Ollivander's for a few weeks, moving stacks of wand boxes around and handling deliveries. After a while though, Ollivander sat him down and said that he had to let him go as Abraxas Malfoy had been angry to see the scion of a noble house doing such a menial job and had threatened to take the family's custom elsewhere. Finally, in desperation, he'd taken a job at a local Muggle pizza parlour which he hated, but at least it meant he could bring home dinner. They had both become very sick of pizza until a week ago when Sirius had had a flaming row with Mario, the fat, chain-smoking owner, and been fired on the spot.

So now he mooched about the tiny flat, making messes and getting under Remus' feet, finding the enforced proximity and resulting tension between them difficult to bear and jerking off desperately at night in his cramped bedroom, embarrassed and excited that Remus could probably hear every stifled groan through the cheap, thin walls. If he were listening, which he probably wasn't. Fuck him.

Why in Hades was he still carrying this ridiculous torch for Remus? Sirius was baffled by his own attraction to the tall, slender youth with dishevelled brown hair, but he couldn't seem to help it. Remus was so different in many ways but they shared a fundamental insecurity. Sirius knew he was deeply messed up: how could he not be, coming from the Blacks? But Remus' parents had loved him and tried their best to help, even though they hadn't had many resources. Remus still saw himself as a monster though, no matter what his parents and his friends said. He still hated himself, deep down, and kept everyone at arm's length. Kept Sirius at arm's length, anyway. Would have distanced himself further, probably, but the flat was literally only large enough to swing a cat, Sirius reflected with a bitter grimace as another mouthful burned its way down his gullet.

It was because Remus didn't _know_ the wolf Sirius decided, nodding with drunken conviction. Remus didn't remember his time in wolf form so those hours were lost to him, stolen by the wolf which forced itself on him each month, leaving him bitten and bruised. Remus feared the transformations with good reason – they hurt like hell and left him aching and battered. But more than that he feared losing himself, losing his human consciousness. Remus was quiet and clever and to be rational and in full control mattered terribly to him.

Sirius knew the wolf in a way that Remus never could, knew him as a friend and companion, still half himself in Padfoot form, still conscious of being Sirius even as his senses expanded and his focus contracted down into the physical world, running beside Moony through the woods, revelling in the play of new muscles and sure-footed paws. Padfoot loved the wolf as much as Sirius loved Remus, play-fighting and rough-housing, nosing the wolf's fur, sniffing his musk, howling together at the moon. They were a pack.

And knowing that the wolf lay inside Remus' buttoned-up exterior increased Sirius' desire. He watched his tall, scarred friend, dressed in low-key shabby clothes purchased from the shop downstairs, smiling shyly and trying so hard to blend in and be accepted. It broke Sirius' heart and drove him wild. And try as he might, Remus couldn't completely hide the wolf. Once he'd recovered from the pain of the change he moved with an animal grace that sometimes stopped Sirius' heart in his throat. And his amber eyes: oh sweet gods. Sirius loved his eyes and the thick brown fur-like hair. He knew Remus had tried shaving the fur on his spine and belly back at Hogwarts, but it grew back straight away, thicker than before, so he'd given up. That, and the scars, made him very private though – he never undressed or showered where others could see him. But then he'd never been sporty at school, no Quidditch locker room arseing about for Remus.

Sirius shuddered as a recurring fantasy of Remus coming to him in the showers after Quidditch replayed yet again. In his dream he was alone in the locker room when Remus came looking for him and rather than going discretely away – which is what would have occurred in real life if Remus had ever actually happened on him wet and naked – miracle of miracles, dream-Remus stripped off his robes and joined him, letting the hot water run over them both and plaster his hair down. Letting Sirius press him back against the tiled wall and kiss him tongue and all, running his hands over Remus' lean form, caressing his scars and his muscles, sliding his hand down that now-wet trail of fur to take Remus' stiffening cock in his hand and moaning with pleasure as Remus' hand closed around his own erection.

He forced himself to think about something else, anything. No robes tonight, as he'd walked through Muggle territory from the flat, and his jeans were painfully tight now in the crotch. He had to get out of here, had to distract himself or he'd explode. Leaving a stack of Sickles on the bar for Tom he turned – oops, slightly unsteady there – and strode out of the bar, wincing in the cold, damp London air and breathing in the urban scents of petrol, tar, wet bricks and the faint whiff of rotting rubbish from a nearby alleyway.

Sirius couldn't face going home in this state, to be tantalised further by Remus. They'd probably just end up arguing again, which was most likely due to him being so bloody frustrated. By everything. He zipped up his leather jacket and turned the other way along Charing Cross Road, walking aimlessly along, hands in his pockets against the cold. It helped him to feel less intoxicated but after a couple of blocks he was freezing so he ducked into a music shop's entranceway to get out of the wind for a moment. Posters about various bands and concerts were sellotaped inside the window where he was huddling and he looked them over, then stopped, muttering a low curse. What the fuck?

** Punksplosion ** ****

**Camden Lock Hotel**

The Lurkers  
The Adverts  
The Death Eaters  
The Clash

The date was tonight, Saturday. Shit. The Death Eaters? Was this some weird Muggle synchronicity with rock group names, or were there actual Death Eaters in Camden tonight? Sirius felt a thrill and his hand strayed to his left breast pocket where he'd stashed his wand inside the jacket. He could just take a look and check it out. Maybe if he brought back some useful intel Moody would stop treating him like a spare wheel, although it was probably just some stupid bunch of Muggle rock star wannabes trying to sound tough.

He'd been to the Camden Lock pub once or twice before, had even taken a piss against the wall in a dark yard out the back when the gents was full. He found a nearby alley and walked into the concealing darkness. Concentrating on the pub's back yard as his destination, he Apparated away with a soft crack, causing a scavenging cat to yowl and skitter off into the shadows.

_________________________________________

 

The noise was deafening and the pub was crammed to the gills with a very assorted mix of people. Sirius realised that if he hadn't Apparated into the back yard so as to seem to be returning from the toilets, he'd never have made it inside.

He also realised that he had only the vaguest notion about what a "punksplosion" might be. He'd heard about "Punk Rock" in a vague way but he hadn't kept up with trends in Muggle music and had no musical talent himself. He'd caught two bands so far as he lurked at the back of the room, getting his bearings – the Lurkers and the Adverts, from names painted on their drum kits. Sirius wondered if the bands themselves had any real musical ability either. It seemed to be largely white noise, but delivered with a great deal of energy, spittle, swearing and rude gestures. He was rather enjoying himself.

It was utter bloody chaos though, and what if he suddenly came face to face with a Death Eater? Many of them would recognise him – gods, what if one of his insane relatives was here? He needed some sort of protective camouflage and looking around he realised that many of the crowd were dressed very oddly and had bizarre hairstyles. Spikes were popular and some had a strange ridge of hair down the centre of their heads, often with the sides shaved off. He shuddered. No way was he going to do that – Moony would kill him. A man shoved past him with bright blue hair and a safety pin stuck through his ear. Sirius blanched slightly. Merlin, these Muggles were weird. Still, it might help him to blend in.

Sirius shoved his way back to the toilets and shut himself in a stall. Concentrating hard he tried to remember some hairstyling charms. Damn, it had never really interested him before, and this was really the area of expertise of witches, not wizards. _Or poofs_, a small voice said in the back of his head. I'm not a fucking poof he thought firmly. I'm just…just…what? Stuck on Moony? In love with Moony? Fuck. He pushed the thoughts away and got down to business, raising his wand.

"_Leva Crines Rigida_!" Excellent. His hair was now sticking up in stiff spikes all over his head. "_Colora Crines Rufus!" _Red hair for Gryffindor of course, no way he was going to have green hair like a filthy Slytherin. Perhaps some gold highlights? No, he wasn't a poof, he wasn't.

Sirius exited the stall and admired himself in the smeared, cracked mirror above the hand basin. Even his mother would have a hard job recognising him now. The thought of her seeing him like this made him feel slightly hysterical: she'd hex him into next week. A loud sound like wood being sawed suddenly emanated from another stall behind him. What the fuck? He pushed on the door, which gave way, unlocked. Slumped on the toilet seat fast asleep and snoring was a plump man dressed in a kilt (a kilt?) with a strange harness of black leather straps all over his rather unattractive, flabby torso. Heavy boots protruded below his hairy legs, and his head was topped with one of those odd crests.

But it was the thing around the kilted bloke's neck that caught Sirius' eye. A collar. A black leather collar with metal studs on it. Padfoot was whining excitedly inside him – he wanted the collar badly. With a soft "_Accio Collar_" Sirius liberated it from its former owner and backed out, closing the stall door quietly. He buckled it on at the mirror, grinning at the effect with his red spiky hair and leather jacket. Actually quite sexy if he did say so himself. He bared his teeth at his reflection: "Woof."

The moment he opened the door from the toilets to the main dance area the noise hit him again like a sledgehammer. Other than jumping up and down to the thudding vibrations (the pub being so packed that only vertical dancing was feasible) the assembled punk rockers were largely occupied in drinking as much booze as was humanly possible in a short space of time. Sirius could certainly manage that aspect of the punk scene. He forced his way through the crowd to a place by the bar and managed to attract the barman, ordering a beer and scrabbling in the jacket pocket where he kept Muggle money.

Just as he finished the order a hand clapped him on the shoulder and a voice said "Mate – 'ere you are! Add another free on top of that, orright Johnny?"

The barman raised an eyebrow and Sirius nodded. "Four." He didn't recognise the voice but he was fairly sure that there weren't any Death Eaters with Cockney accents. None from his family, that was for sure. Anyway, it was bound to be just a weird coincidence with the band name. Might pay to talk to the punters though – he was here on a reconnaissance mission after all.

"Fanks mate," said the voice in his ear. "Busy as an 'ore's twat in 'ere tonight. Fuckin' nightmare gettin' Johnny's attention fer a drink and we're all parched as fuck. 'Aven't seen you 'ere before. I'm Spike – wot's yer name ven?"

Spike was a few inches shorter and solidly built. His bright yellow hair had been gelled and combed to stand straight up in one of those crests and he had a cheeky grin on his face.

Sirius thought frantically. "Paddy," he said. Well, it was close.

"Irish eh? Y'd betta come 'n meet Jock then. Fuckin' Celts everyfuckinwhere."

Johnny returned with the beers and they paid, taking two each.

"Not Irish!" Sirius yelled over the noise as they began to fight their way through the crowd. "Just a nickname from school."

Spike winked at him and led them to a table at the side of the room. Two colourful-looking individuals were sprawled there, guarding an empty chair.

"This's Paddy," said Spike. "He 'elped me get in the beers."

A tall and well-muscled bloke with bright ginger hair standing up erratically grinned at him and said "Jock", then reached sideways, grabbing a chair from the next table and tipping a thin youth with acne unceremoniously to the floor before offering the chair to Sirius. The chair's erstwhile occupier scrambled to his feet, cursing, and Jock unfolded his long legs and stood, towering over him and grinning in a menacing manner, cracking his knuckles. The acne-faced kid backed hastily away through the crowd, muttering under his breath.

"That's our Jockstrap, a man of action but fuck all words," said Spike with satisfaction, handing Jock his beer.

"And most of them obscene," grinned the third person at the table. He had messy short hair, dyed an unusual shade of pink, and was slender in a black T-shirt and jeans. He held his hand out languidly. "Munter. You're Irish then?" He had quite a posh accent, compared with Spike, anyway.

"Not Irish," said Sirius, handing him a beer and shaking hands before taking a pull on his own glass as he lowered himself into the purloined chair. "Just a name from school. Look, call me Pads, it'll be easier."

"Pads, right. My moniker's from school too," said Munter. "Which hallowed hall did you attend then?"

"Hogwarts," said Sirius. "It's in Scotland."

Jock perked up at that. "Scotland!" he shouted, raising his glass. They all raised their beers in acknowledgement of the toast and drank deeply.

"I don't know the Scottish schools," Munter said easily. "I'm afraid I'm an old Etonian, but Spike and Jockstrap let me hang around with them anyway."

"Yer our token ponce Munter," said Spike, with another cheeky grin. "An' yer a fair bass player too or y'd be on yer bike."

"You're in a band then?" asked Sirius.

"Yeah. We will be, anyway, once we find another lead singer." Munter frowned. "Fucking prat went off to some Indian ashram chasing his hippie girlfriend. Tosser."

"What d'you all play then?" asked Sirius.

"Guitar, me," said Spike. "Munter's bass an' Jock's on drums."

"Drums!" shouted Jock, raising his glass, and they all drank solemnly.

"So Pads – d'you sing or play anything?"

"Me? Well…"

"Come on Spike, doesn't matter if he can sing or not," Munter interjected. "He's just got to look right and be able to shout and arse about a lot at the mic. You look right – reckon you could do that Pads?"

Sirius grinned. "Yeah. I've got a degree in arseing about."

Munter and Spike exchanged a glance and Munter shrugged. "Worth a try. Why don't you come and have a go with us tomorrow?"

Spike rolled his eyes: "Anuvver fuckin' toff reject." But he gave Sirius an encouraging grin and Jock leaned over and punched him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him off the chair.

"Jock's taken a shine to you anyway." Munter was amused.

"OK," said Sirius, his heart beating a little faster. "Where d'you practice?"

Spike scribbled the time and address on a scrap of paper and he slipped it into his jacket pocket. He didn't have anything else to do and at least it'd get him out of the bloody flat for a while. And really, how much talent did you need to yell abuse and make rude gestures? He'd had years of practice on the Slytherins.

A sudden crash from the stage distracted him and he realised that there'd been a lull, presumably as the Adverts had finished and the next band were setting up. Shit, were the Death Eaters next? He tried to recall the poster he'd seen, squinting at the stage.

"New lot, these." Said Spike. "Gotta woman lead singer – 'eard she's a full-on nutcase."

"Excellent," drawled Munter. "I do like a show with some angry energy. After all, we are expressing rebellion against the forces of authority. Giving conventional society the finger and all that."

"Yeah, some of us wiv more street cred than uvvers mate," grinned Spike. "Some of us are just class-traita public school gits who like slummin' it wiv the proles."

"Indeed," grinned Munter, not in the least bothered. He winked at Sirius, who blushed.

A blast of shrieking sound from the stage interrupted them. Sirius craned his neck, trying to see, then rose to his feet, stunned. Fuck – that was definitely his cousin Bellatrix screaming into the mic, her black hair in wild disarray, eyes lined with kohl, wearing ripped black robes. Probably no-one but him in the crowd realised that this was how she looked all the time. And flanking her on either side were the Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus and Rabastan, on guitars. A thin, angry-looking bloke with a shaven head was on drums behind them but Sirius didn't recognise him. The Lestrange brothers had charmed their hair into tall black crests and were wearing tight jeans and T-shirts with – oh fucking Merlin – a screen print of the Dark Mark on their chests. His eyes shot to their bare arms. Yes, all four had the Dark Mark tattooed there.

He shivered and sank down again, his knees a little weak. Death Eaters, they really were Death Eaters. He had to tell Moody.

_________________________________________

"Oh, come on Remus! It's fashionable, it's the sort of get-up punk rock stars _wear_!"

"Uh-huh, right. So you're a punk rock star now, are you?"

_Fucking Remus. _Sirius sulked, pouting, his hands on his hips as he showed off his new look in the cramped living room of the flat.

Remus was sitting calmly on the sofa, a book from the library on his lap. A guide to Muggle computing, whatever that was – something to do with Arithmancy, probably. Remus appeared deeply unimpressed by Sirius' new spiky, red hairdo. Even the collar had only caused him to cross his elegant long legs and raise an eyebrow – and Sirius had been so sure that the black, studded leather around his throat would get a rise out of him – a very specific rise, he'd hoped.

Damn, this was frustrating, and he was already pissed off with Moody. Moody had in the end not sent an Order assault team to the Camden Lock pub earlier this evening after Sirius made hasty excuses to his new friends and Apparated excitedly into Headquarters, shouting about Death Eaters. He was too bloody cautious, was Moody, Sirius thought irritably. It would be different if _he_ were running things, there'd be a lot more action.

Still, at least Moody had finally decided that Sirius could do further reconnaissance for the Order. After all, Sirius had an _in_ with the punk scene now – or he would have, if he were able to impress Spike, Munter and Jock tomorrow morning at the practice session and join their band.

Partially appeased by the thought of his new role as a spy, he'd Apparated back to the alley across from their flat in Charing Cross Road and pounded up the stairs in a highly excited state, only to find Remus having a quiet night in and not inclined to jump up and down about Bellatrix and those Lestrange arseholes invading the punk scene.

"Well I'm not a star yet, no, but I reckon I can do this stuff as well as any of those gits – all they do is leap about in outfits like this and yell swearwords into the – what do they call it? The mick? The ice-cream-shaped thing that makes it loud."

"The mic. For microphone - it amplifies sounds."

"Yeah, that. Like a _Sonorus_. Bloody cumbersome things these Muggles use instead, on big metal stands. Mind you, one of those singers went berserk with it, flailing it about like a fucking broadsword. Bit dangerous, actually, but I guess I'll have to do that stuff. Smash things up and all that."

"Well, that'll be a stretch for you then." Remus was dry, his eyes cynical as he regarded the still-hyper Sirius, who had now slumped into one of their broken-down armchairs and was drumming his fingers restlessly on the arm.

"Oh har de har. I'm not a complete prat you know Remus, I do have some talents. And I think this punk music thing could be a bit of a breakthrough for me, on the job front."

"Right. This band's a commercial success then, are they? Raking it in?"

"Fuck Remus, I don't know, I've barely met them! No, I expect not yet - but it's got potential, you have to see that."

"Do I?" Remus sighed. "All I can see, Sirius, is that you've bounded in here in an over-excited state with a ridiculous makeover and a new Padfoot accessory, planning to spy on a bunch of psychotic Death Eaters while leaping about on stage in full view of everyone, screaming obscenities. Excuse me if I have the odd reservation about all this."

"Yeah, well, you had to be there. To appreciate it. I'll take you some time, then you'll see what I mean about the energy. And if I'm in this band, you'll have to come and watch us play of course."

"I can hardly wait." If he was any drier he'd be the Gobi fucking desert.

Sirius stuck out his tongue in reply. Why did Remus turn him into a damn three year old? And why did he have to act as though he were Sirius' grandfather! He was only nineteen, they both were, but sometimes it seemed that Remus was already middle-aged.

It was hard to get off to sleep that night after the evening's adventures. Sirius tossed and turned in his single bed, finally resorting to another form of tossing so as to hasten drowsiness. And he could have sworn he heard muffled groans from the other side of the thin wall separating him from Remus. Not that Remus would lower himself to having a wank, perish the thought. Probably the cycle of the moon making his joints ache again, or something. But full moon wasn't imminent, was it? He made a sleepy mental note to check the calendar in the kitchen alcove, before finally drifting off.

_________________________________________

 

"These are the lyrics?" Sirius frowned at a piece of paper on which a series of short, brutal verses were scrawled in pencil.

"_Lyrics _might be going a bit far," drawled Munter, plugging his bass guitar into a large, battered black object. Sirius thought he had called it an "amp", whatever that was.

"You don't want to be too constrained by what's written down there – feel free to improvise. Preferably at high volume and with rude embellishments." Munter grinned and began tuning his guitar, one ear tilted towards the strings.

Hmmm. Sirius re-read the words he was supposed to sing. Or shout, to be more accurate. It wasn't especially going to challenge his powers of recall. Not that that was an issue: a simple _Memora Omne_ muttered under his breath would assist with even the most complex songs, as long as he was discrete about it.

Spike had been tuning his guitar as well. He leaned over and pointed at the final list of several "No!"s. "We all yell these togevver – an' feel free ter sling in a few "Fuck No!"s as well at the end, right?"

"Yeah, sure," said Sirius, folding the paper and stuffing it in the back pocket of his jeans. Well, it was certainly going to be a feisty little number. He had a momentary fantasy of performing it at the Beltane Ball back at Hogwarts, students screaming the words along with them as several appalled professors advanced with raised wands to shut them down with silencing spells.

He was still grinning when Spike kicked off the practice session with a series of crashing chords, joined by Munter's driving bass and hammering drums from Jock at the back.

Spike gave him the nod, and Sirius let rip at the top of his voice, clutching the microphone with both hands and leaning in close as he'd seen other performers do at the Camden Lock.

_Smash and burn_  
Crash and burn  
Break the rules  
You never learn

Caught up with the frenetic rhythm, Sirius tilted the mic stand and lurched from side to side as he yelled excitedly.

_We can't take it_  
We won't fake it  
Fucking bullshit  
You can't make us

He whirled around to watch the others. Spike gave him a thumbs up sign and Jock thrashed the cymbals, then they were into the next verse.

_All of you gits_  
Brain dead fuckwits  
Zombies marching  
To the death pits

Sweating now, Sirius grabbed the mic on its metal stand in both hands and brandished it, jumping up and down and raising puffs of dust from the old warehouse's stained floorboards.

_Fuck employment_  
Fuck adjustment  
Schools that brainwash  
We don't consent!

He faced the others and they all leaned in to shout the final chorus, heads thrashing to the beat.

_No!_  
No!  
No!  
No!

There was a last cacophonous crash from Jock and after some ragged guitar screeches the noise died away. Sirius wiped his damp forehead and propped the microphone stand back upright again. He waited, panting with exertion.

Munter and Spike exchanged a glance then they both looked across at Jock, who gave a small nod and a drum-roll.

"You'll do," said Spike, grinning. "Fink you can keep it up fer an 'ole set though?"

"Yeah, no problem," said Sirius confidently. He could always make up an Invigoration Draught to take before performing.

***

By the end of the morning, Sirius was knackered. They'd worked on several numbers, all high-energy and involving a great deal of thrashing about. His voice would have been hoarse if he hadn't cast a quick _Sonorus_ so as to seem to be shouting while not taxing his vocal cords all that much. How Muggles managed without magic, Sirius had no bloody idea.

Spike finally called a halt and they collapsed on some old packing cases, the only furniture in the cavernous space. Munter rummaged in a duffel bag and extracted several cans of beer, throwing them one each. For a minute or two, the only noises were those of tabs popping, glugging and heartfelt sighs.

"We've still got to think up a name, Spike." Munter had chugged the beer and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah. I nevva liked being 'The Dicks' – too friggin' obvious."

"It was Chris's idea," Munter explained to Sirius. "He started the band so we didn't get any say about the name. But he's fucked off now so we're reinventing ourselves." He grinned and looked across at the tall red-headed drummer. "You got any ideas, Jock?"

"Laphroaig!" said Jock and raised his beer can, draining it dry. It was unclear if this was a toast or a name suggestion. Sirius treated it as a tribute and drained his can as well.

"We can't call ourselves after someone else's brand name Jock," Munter protested. "Even if it is a single malt. Ummm, what about 'The Bats'? Nice cricketing ring to it."

"Nah, too short," said Spike. "And fuck cricket, y' public school wanker."

" 'The Slash'?" Munter grinned evilly.

Spike snorted. "Might work fer you, Munter, but I'm fucked if I'll be in a band called 'The Slash'. Give the ladies hintirely the wrong idea. Nah, we want somefing punchy, not too brief, and conveyin' the right message."

"What about 'The Bludgers'?" offered Sirius, thinking about punchy things that packed a fair wallop. He'd been knocked off his broom once by a speeding bludger, very nasty.

" 'Bludgers'? What're they?" Spike was curious.

"I quite like it," Munter said thoughtfully. "Had an Aussie pal at school, son of some newspaper tycoon. He was always on about 'dole bludgers'. It's an old word for 'pimp' but he used it to mean anyone getting handouts. Like us – living off the Social. Parasites on the Body Politic. Yes, it has a certain 'fuck you' quality to it. Nice one, Pads."

Sirius had no idea bludgers were anything other than lethal Quidditch balls, but he nodded modestly.

"Ther '_Bludgers'_." Spike tried the name experimentally. "Jock? What abaht it?"

"Bludgers!" Jock seemed enthusiastic. He grinned at Sirius. "Fuckin' bludgers, aye."

***

They adjourned to the pub to celebrate their rebranding.

"So d'you live around here, around Camden?" Munter passed Sirius a Guinness and sat next to him on the bench seat. Sirius shifted over a bit to make room. Across the beer-stained wooden table, Spike and Jock were flirting intensely with a couple of blonde German girls – tourists, from the look of them. Sirius sipped his drink: Most Muggle beers tasted bland compared to wizarding ales, but Guinness passed muster.

"Thanks." He was pleasantly relaxed, after several drinks. "No, I live over by Holloway. I flat with a friend from school."

"Right." Munter drank some lager. "Your friend into the punk scene as well then?"

"Christ no." Sirius laughed and pulled a face. "He's not too thrilled with me getting involved in all this. Not his sort of thing: he's a librarian."

"Very sexy beasts, librarians. Or so I'm told – all that pent-up libido, I imagine. Although I'd find the cardigans a bit of a turn-off, personally." He smirked at Sirius from under his lashes.

Sirius coloured slightly. "Yeah, well. I don't think Remus wears cardigans." Trying not to think of a beige woollen thing Remus liked, with leather patches on the elbows. Was Remus a barely contained cauldron of librarianish sexual energy? The thought was rather exciting and he felt his cock twitch.

"You and this Remus, you're…just friends? I mean are you…available?" Sirius felt Munter's hand on his knee under the table. He choked on his drink, snorting some up his nose. Munter smiled pleasantly and slid his hand further up Sirius' thigh. Damn, definitely getting a stiffie now. Sirius tried to edge away before the hand reached the bulge in his jeans. Oh fuck, too late.

"No, I - I'm not… _shit_… Stop that Munter! I'm not available." He muttered, glancing round to check that no-one had overheard. Spike and Jock were fully occupied with the frauleins, thank Merlin. "I'm with Remus." He looked down at the table, flushing and concentrating on not thrusting his hips forward into the fingers resting lightly on his crotch.

Munter gave his swollen groin a gentle squeeze and withdrew his hand. "Lucky Remus, then. Let me know if you change your mind Pads. I'd be very keen to teach you a few… punk moves."

Crimson with embarrassment, Sirius focussed on drinking his Guinness. Munter was entirely blasé, smiling blandly around the crowded, noisy pub. Perhaps he grabbed blokes by the genitals all the time; he certainly wasn't shy about making his preferences known.

Sirius squirmed in frustration – damn but he was turned on now. He thought about Remus: pent-up librarian Remus, all that wolfish lust hiding behind a shabby grey and beige disguise. Damn it, he should be more assertive, more like Munter; he'd tiptoed around long enough. He looked at his watch: half past twelve. Remus had been working at the library this morning, but they closed at noon so he'd be close to finishing; he'd be putting books away and tidying up.

Clutching his jacket in front of him to conceal his hard-on, Sirius stood and made his good-byes. Munter gave him a sardonic wink as he turned, blushing again, and eeled his way out through the crowded public bar.

He nipped down a side street to the back of a deserted factory and focussed on the staff tea room at the library, then Apparated. The shabby room was deserted, and Sirius pushed open the door and ventured out into the main area. The library was quiet: Remus had obviously closed it for the day. Where was he? Sirius strolled along the end of the stacks, then heard a soft thud and a muffled curse up ahead. Aha. He adjusted his jeans, still uncomfortably aroused, and peered around the end of the next row of shelving.

Remus was bent over with his back to Sirius, retrieving several books that had fallen to the floor. His slender arse was outlined by grey corduroy trousers, above those attractively long legs.

Sirius swallowed, his cock responding enthusiastically to the view. The beers cheered him on as he walked silently up behind Remus, who was straightening, his arms full of books. Sirius reached around and took Remus by the waist, his right hand sliding down over the corduroy covering his groin and squeezing.

"Jesus!" Remus jerked violently, books flying everywhere. "What the fuck?" He pulled himself out of Sirius' grasp and whirled, backing up against the shelving behind him. "Sirius? What…"

Sirius chewed on his lower lip and tried to give Remus a sultry stare. He wasn't going to be put off this time.

Remus' gaze dropped to his groin where the jeans were failing to hide Sirius' excitement. A wash of blood flooded his usually pale cheeks. "Er, Sirius? Are you… all right?"

"Never better. Should have done this ages ago." He stepped forward, placing his hands on the shelving on either side of Remus' head. Remus looked a little like a rabbit trapped in the headlights and was breathing rapidly, his face still flushed. Munter was right: there was definitely something hot about librarians. Sirius removed the pencil from behind Remus' left ear and put it on a shelf. He pushed back a lock of brown hair that had fallen across Remus' eye, and leaned in.

"What are you… Oh…" Remus' eyes widened as Sirius closed the last inch and tasted him. Coffee, and Piccalilly relish from a lunchtime corned beef sandwich.

He licked across Remus' lower lip and tilted his head, pressing his lips to Remus' with a soft groan. Christ he felt good, and his mouth was opening, Sirius' tongue sliding inside as he pressed his knee between those long legs and took Remus' head in both hands to deepen the kiss. Remus' eyes slid closed and he gave a quiet whimper. Gods, that was definitely his new favourite noise.

He was painfully hard now, aching with longing as he twined his tongue with Remus' and ran his fingers through the thick, soft, fur-like hair that had occupied so many of his fantasies. Remus responded, his arms around Sirius now, his head falling back with a gasp as Sirius kissed his way hungrily down the long, pale neck, his hand falling to Remus' arse, pulling him in against his erection.

Remus was hard too, the bulging corduroy rubbing against him as Sirius thrust with his hips, whining a little and sucking on Remus' top lip before opening his mouth again and exploring it with his tongue.

But now Remus was writhing against Sirius, and pushing him away. _What?_

"No, please Sirius, please…"

"What? But you want, I want…" Sirius had his hands back on the stacks on either side of Remus again, his forehead against Remus', breathing heavily.

Remus' hands were on his chest, pushing him back. His eyes were dark, the pupils dilated, and his hair dishevelled. "I shouldn't…we shouldn't. That is, it's too much, too fast. _Fuck_." Remus shook his head as though to clear it. "You can't just…just waltz in here and fucking grab me!"

"No? Thought I just did. You seemed to quite enjoy it too, until you went all coy on me." Sirius tried not to sound frustrated, but with little success. Where was all that pent-up librarian libido now? They seemed to be in the self-help section: the books on the shelf mocked him with their peppy titles. "You Can Do It!". "Getting To Yes". "Brave New You: The Idiot's Guide To Assertiveness". Yeah, right.

"I'm, I'm not trying to be coy. I'm sorry Sirius, but… well, you took me by surprise. And you've been drinking, haven't you? Presumably with your new punk musician mates."

"Just a few beers after the practice." Sirius stepped back, irritated. "Look, I probably shouldn't have grabbed you like that, I didn't mean to startle you. You just drive me mad is all, Remus."

He ran a hand through his hair, still red and spiky. So much for his hot, new punk look turning Remus into a gibbering heap of lust. Sirius noticed that he was wearing the woollen thing with leather elbow patches. It _was_ a cardigan, really. Suddenly it didn't seem all that sexy.

Sirius turned away with a sigh. "I'll see you at home, then." He let himself out the front door and trudged off in the direction of Charing Cross Road, his head bowed, kicking angrily at an old tennis shoe lying abandoned on the pavement. So much for being more assertive; he'd probably fucked things up royally with Remus now.

_Bugger._

_________________________________________

 

_Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck._

Remus sighed deeply, his face in his hands. He had slid down to the floor, his back against the shelves of books where Sirius had left him. Finally, after all these years, Sirius had reached out to him. And what had he done? Swatted him off as though he wasn't interested. As though he hadn't been longing for him since they were both twelve and he'd become aware that it was boys not girls who turned him on, and that what he felt for Sirius was more than the usual Marauders camaraderie.

Sirius had been turning him on even more than usual since last night when he'd come crashing into the flat looking impossibly exotic with his wild red hair, and the collar. The _collar_. Fuck, Remus had gotten an instant erection just seeing the damn collar. He'd had to cross his legs to relieve the pressure, and prop the book he'd been reading over his groin to hide it. Punked-up Sirius was impossibly hot: it was so unfair.

Unfair of him to come on to Remus when there was no future for them. And sweet bleeding Merlin, to be leapt on like that, out of nowhere! It was no wonder he'd lost it and panicked. And Sirius was sloshed as well, typical. Remus groaned and pressed the heel of his hand into his erection, trying to get it to subside. _Sod it._

It wasn't as though he was a blushing virgin or anything. Not that he'd ever really wanted anyone else except Sirius, but he'd fooled around with another sixth-year in the Prefects' Bath and practised blow-jobs with that Hufflepuff from Ancient Runes class. Just to see if he could exorcise this thing for Sirius. Yeah, big success that had been.

But now Sirius wanted him and he'd chickened out. Sure, he'd been half-cut and a bit rough, but in his heart, Remus knew he was making excuses. The real reason he had pushed Sirius back was the same one that had kept him from making his feelings towards Sirius know throughout their schooling, and since they had shared a flat. He didn't really believe that Sirius could want him or care for him, not really. How could anyone want a – a _thing _like him? A beast? A monster? Even in human form he was no great catch, thin and covered with scars. No, Sirius was just drunk and looking for a quick screw, bloody typical. Not thinking how that would mess up their living arrangements and their friendship, impulsive git that he was.

And what had triggered this sudden surge of lust anyway? What had gone on at the practice with Sirius' new punk friends to bring this on? Remus tried to suppress the jealous fantasies that sprang to mind but he was well aware that compared with the musicians he must seem drab and colourless. They were bound to be far more interesting and sexy than a librarian. No, it was just that Sirius took him for granted: he was convenient. Yet another way Sirius thought he could boss Remus around, just as he had back at Hogwarts, dragging him into ludicrous and sometimes dangerous plots and schemes. Remus had been carried inexorably along in his wake, desperate to be near him, to be noticed. But he had grown up now; he was not a Marauder any more.

Weary, he pulled himself to his feet and began putting away the last few books. He was not Sirius Black's plaything, to be grabbed and fucked on impulse then discarded five minutes later when Padfoot rushed off on his next mad adventure. He wanted Sirius so much, but how could he trust him? It would never work.

_________________________________________

 

Sirius leaned forwards, resting his hands on his knees as he got his breath back. That last number was a killer: full-on screaming and leaping about with no respite.

The Bludgers had been practising every day for the past week and he thought they sounded bloody good. Their sound was tighter and less chaotic – well, a slightly more organised chaos, anyway. He hoped they'd pass muster: Spike had organised a gig at the Camden Lock with a couple of other bands this Friday so there were only a few more days for them to pull it together.

Sirius straightened and flapped his damp black t-shirt to send a breeze up his overheated torso, then caught Munter smirking at him and flushed, turning away. Damn Munter, giving him come-hither looks at practices so that he was always a little worked up when he got back to the flat. Back to Remus pretending that nothing had happened, that he hadn't had Sirius' tongue down his throat and liked it. He hardly even made eye-contact with Sirius any more, and the weather had been a prominent conversational topic. For fuck's sake, this was London: it was only ever wet, cold or overcast, and generally all three.

Having tasted Remus once, Sirius couldn't get that stolen kiss in the stacks out of his mind. His thoughts kept sliding back to the feel of Remus' slender but muscular frame pressed up against him, the pressure of his erection rubbing against Sirius' groin, the little whimper he'd made as Remus opened his mouth. Gods, that whimper. He tried to think about something else before Munter and the others noticed that his jeans were a little snug. That stupid cardigan, for example, that was a turn-off.

Sirius sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. To be honest, Remus' whole attitude was a turn-off. He'd tried a spot of flirting, the occasional innuendo, but all he got in return was a nervous silence then they were back on the bloody weather again. Honestly, Remus was behaving like a fucking girl. That was a thought – perhaps he should bring some flowers home, or a box of chocolates? Maybe he wanted wooing? It was worth a try.

Squatting down against the wall while Jock adjusted his hi-hat stand, Sirius closed his eyes for a moment, opening them when Spike plunked himself down on his left and handed him a bottle of lemonade.

"Thanks." He drank thirstily, then handed the bottle back. "D'you think we'll be ready for the gig?"

"Yeah, reckon we're doin' OK." Spike shot him a sideways glance. "'Ow about you Pads – any first night jitters?"

"Guess I'll find out. I'm enjoying it though."

"Good on yer mate. Might as well 'ave a laugh while we're 'ere. Be pushing up the fuckin' daisies soon enough as me ol' gran used to say. Mostly after she'd drunk her weight in port and lemon."

Sirius grinned, then sobered. They were in uncertain times indeed, with reports of atrocities against Muggles and unexplained "disappearances" whispered about in the Leaky, behind people's hands. He remembered why he was here.

"Any news about that group I mentioned the other day, Spike? The Death Eaters?"

"Oh, right – I asked 'round. No-one knows much, and wot I did 'ear wasn't too flash eiver. They mates o' yours?"

"Shit, no. Far from it."

"That's orright then. Well, this bloke I know who books the bands, 'e said 'e 'eard that one of this Death Eater lot – not a bad name that, mind – anyway, that one of 'em sold some smack to a kid, and the kid died – 'e ODd on it 'cos it was cut wiv some crap. I fuckin' 'ate smack, my cousin got 'ooked on it and now she's no fuckin' use ter man nor beast, can't look after her kid or nuffink. Fuckin' waste."

"I'm sorry." Sirius had no idea what "smack" was but he didn't like to ask. Maybe it was some sort of illegal potion? There were a few forbidden elixirs in the wizarding world that he'd heard kids whispering about in the locker rooms back at Hogwarts, but he'd never tried any of them. Firewhisky was his poison of choice.

"Yeah, well. Fuckin' life, innit? Sucks, sometimes." Spike sighed. "C'mon, two more numbers then we'll get a beer."__

_________________________________________

 

Sirius threw the bunch of roses crossly onto the kitchen bench. He'd forgotten that Remus was working late tonight, keeping the library open for a local book club meeting. He'd picked up the flowers at a street stall after leaving the pub, then Apparated across to Headquarters to tell Moody about someone in the Death Eaters band selling kids this stuff called "smack", and about the boy who'd died. Moody had rolled his eye at the roses as though they were infested with Doxies, but had not asked him about them, thank Merlin.

Smack was illegal, as he'd thought, something like the Amor Lethum elixir which was a mixture of Amortentia and the Draught of Peace. Amor Lethum was banned by the Ministry because users became obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else, until they wasted away. Moody had been more interested in his information than he'd expected, as apparently the youth who'd overdosed had been the Squib son of a prominent and pro-Muggle Ministry of Magic official, Urania Wibble. He'd been a troubled young man, Moody said, unable to cope with being non-magical so probably an easy target for someone peddling a chemical release. Urania Wibble had resigned her post in a storm of scandal, devastated by her son's death: one less liberal in the Ministry. Moody had thought it smelt of Death Eater machinations, and Sirius' information confirmed their involvement.

Sirius banged about in the cupboards, looking for something to put the flowers in. Why didn't they have any vases? Finally he found an empty Firewhisky bottle and filled it with water then stuck the roses in it on the table.

He stretched, feeling his neck pop. Gods, he needed a bath after all that sweaty leaping about. But that damned machine in the bathroom – and Remus wouldn't be back for another hour. Sod it.

Undressed down to his jeans and having stripped off the sweat-soaked t-shirt, he padded barefoot across the landing to the bathroom and pondered the baffling gas water-heater on the wall as though it were a rogue dragon about to incinerate him. Maybe he could just fill the tub with cold water and cast a heating charm? They were terribly draining though – he'd be exhausted after heating a whole bathful, and he was already tired.

"Arseholes!" He kicked the cast-iron tub in disgust then hopped on one foot shaking his bruised toes furiously. He'd just have to stay dirty until Remus got back. So much for making a good impression; sweat and roses hadn't been quite what he'd had in mind.

"Havin' some problems there mon?"

Sirius turned – it was Winston. "Oh, hi Winston. Just this heater thing – I can't…"

"Yeah, it a bastard, that ting. You got to treat it real careful or it spit flames at you. Singed me eyebrows half off one time it did."

It _was_ like a bloody dragon then, he'd been right to be cautious. Perhaps it was cursed? "Can you work it?"

"Yeah, sure mon, jus' let me put me stuff inside then I be back an' get it goin' for you. You got the coins?"

"Oh right, yeah, I'll get some." He'd forgotten you needed to feed money into the meter. The thing ate silver as though some sort of hungry minor godling crouched in its innards.

He found a few twenty pence pieces and a towel, and joined Winston by the tub. Winston was fiddling with matches and various knobs and muttering something that sounded surprisingly like an incantation – maybe he wasn't a Muggle at all? There was a whooshing noise and blue flame leapt up inside the metal casing, making them both jump back a little.

"There you go, mon, no worries." Winston looked relieved to have successfully mastered the heater-monster one more time. He turned the hot tap on and stood back, triumphant, as steam rose into the damp chill of the small room.

"Thanks Winston, that's great. I'm hopeless with it – well, Remus doesn't usually let me anywhere near it, actually, but he's working late."

"Any time, mon, any time." Winston paused at the door. "Why don' you come visit when you had your bath mon? Have a drink wit' me?"

"Oh – er, yeah. That'd be nice, thanks."

_________________________________________

 

Clean but prune-like after a long soak, and in fresh jeans and t-shirt, Sirius knocked at Winston's door. They didn't have much in the flat but he'd brought a few bottles of Irish ale from the Leaky with him.

"Greetings mon, greetings." Winston ushered him inside and took the ale from him. " 'Leprechaun Lager'? You got it from the end of the rainbow hey?" Chuckling at his own joke, Winston led him into the tiny kitchen. Actually, he wasn't far wrong; leprechauns always built their breweries at rainbow's end as they refused to pay liquor taxes and it was a good way to avoid nosy officials.

Winston poured the ale into two tall glasses and ushered him back into the living room. Sirius sat in an old, overstuffed chair and looked around him with interest, noticing an odd collection of things in a corner alcove. A blue velvet cloth was pinned to the wall, and in front of it religious-looking figurines were arrayed, many of them black-skinned, plus painted icons, a small plastic skull and the head of a porcelain doll. And there were many candles, draped skeins of beads and sticks of incense. It looked like a shrine of some sort.

An acoustic guitar with palm trees painted on the front leaned against the wall close to Winston's chair.

"You play guitar, Winston?" Sirius indicated the instrument.

"Yeah, a little bit mon, just some tunes from back home in Ja. What about you mon – you a music fan?"

"I can't play anything but I'm singing with a punk band at the moment." Sirius made a wry face. "Well, not singing so much as shouting, really."

Winston grinned. "Yeah, that punk, it be loud as. So where you playin'?"

"We're just starting, but our first gig's at the Camden Lock this Saturday. Why don't you come?"

"Mebbe I will mon, mebbe I will."

They both turned their heads at a knock on the door.

Sirius explained: "Probably Remus, I left him a note I was here."

Remus stood in the doorway, looking a little nervous in his grey cords and a white shirt. "Oh, hi Winston – Sirius said you'd invited us over for a drink." His eyes met Sirius' and he flushed. Maybe he'd seen the roses?

"Come in, mon, come in." Winston ushered Remus into the flat. "What you want? We havin' some of this leprechaun beer – or I got rum of course, can make you a rum an' coke?"

"Yeah, that'd be good, thanks." Winston busied himself in the kitchen and Remus folded himself into one of the armchairs. He leaned across to Sirius and whispered "What's with all this?"

"He helped me light the water-heater and we got talking. I don't reckon he _is_ a Muggle you know, Remus. He definitely charmed that gas-monster in the bathroom–"

"Shhh." Remus tried to look nonchalant, gazing around the room interestedly as he accepted a clinking glass from Winston. "Thanks. Nice place you've got here – you've done more with it than we have with our flat." He took a long sip, then spluttered. "Ye gods, that's strong."

"Be a Jamaican rum and coke, it heavy on the rum. 'Rum and religion it calm de spirit' as ol' Lord Byron said. Cheers."

"Yeah, cheers." Remus took a cautious sip then glanced across at the corner shrine. "You're an Obeah man then?"

"A what?" Sirius was baffled. Was it some Muggle accountancy thing?

Winston chuckled. "He mean do I do the witchy stuff – is called Obeah back home – like what they call voodoo, yeah? No mon, not really. That an Obeah shrine though, yeah, me mudda taught me to pay me respeks to the spirits. Now she got the gif' for true, she a real Obeah woman."

"Your mother's a witch?" Sirius was excited. "Really? So's mine."

Remus groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose but Sirius ignored him.

"I didn't know you had witches and wizards in Jamaica. We have them here too, but we have to keep quiet about it." He became aware that Remus was glaring at him. Sirius shrugged: what? They could always do a memory charm later on if the drink didn't confund Winston sufficiently.

"Sure, mon, it the same in Ja. There's many like me mudda but they got to keep it quiet. Lotta people tink it's a wicked ting an' it be gainst the law. But she don' do the dark stuff, just healin' and prophesyin'. You into alla that then, mon?"

"Yeah, we're both wizards, me and Remus - kind of like Obeah men, I guess."

Remus shot Sirius a cautionary look. "It's a little different, Winston. With us it's more of a way of life, not so much a religion. But there are similarities, yes."

"Prophesying huh? Sirius was interested. "I did Divination at school, but I was pants at it. Hopeless. Is your mother any good?"

"Yeah, she can see true when the spirits be leadin' her. She the one tol' me to talk wit you boys, tol' me you were doin' magic like her."

Even Remus looked startled at this and there seemed little point in denying it any more, so they spent the evening comparing their different magical backgrounds. Winston had seen a lot in Jamaica, with his mother, but was not a practitioner. Sirius decided he was a little like a Squib, but he seemed content enough with his lot. When they got hungry, Winston heated up some left-over rice and curry, then made cups of strong tea and offered around chunky home-made biscuits. The biscuits were a little chewy and tasted odd, so they only had one each, but all in all it was an enjoyable evening.

***

"Stop giggling Remus, and help me find my wand!" Merlin but he was sloshed, and he hadn't had that much to drink really. Those rum and cokes were killers though: he'd never seen Remus this pie-eyed.

"There it is. _Lumos!_" Soft light flooded the kitchen. He could have put the electric lights on, but he preferred this gentler illumination. Remus sank into a chair at the kitchen table while Sirius groped in the cupboard for some candles, then lit them with his wand.

"It was the biscuits," Remus said owlishly, raising one finger.

"What was the biscuits?" asked Sirius, amused. Remus was making no sense at all.

"In the biscuits. Ganja, I b'lieve it's called." Seeing Sirius frowning at him, Remus continued. "It's a plant, affects people a bit like a mix of … of Calming Draught an' Euphoria Elixir." He nodded solemnly.

"Winston drugged us with some sort of herb?"

Struggling slightly to get the words out clearly, Remus explained. "Doubt he thinks of it like that, he probly – prob_ab_ly – meant well. Ganja's part of life in the islands – it's what he smokes mos' nights. You know, the stuff you smelled outside, in th' hallway."

"Merlin." Sirius slid into a chair beside Remus and ran his hands through his hair. It felt good so he did it again, shutting his eyes and letting his head fall back. "Mmmm. It's rather nice, isn't it?"

"Pads?"

"Mmmm, what?"

"The roses. Um, were they for me?"

Sirius opened his eyes and turned to see Remus looking at him with an odd expression on his face. "Yeah. Thought you might like them."

"Thanks. I do." Remus sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, I've been acting like a prat since we..."

"Since I kissed you." Sirius reached out and took his hand, holding it in both of his own.

"Yeah, that." Remus swallowed, looking down. "It sort of took me by surprise. I…I panicked, to be honest."

"I know. I shouldn't have jumped you like that, I'm sorry, Moony." On impulse he raised Remus' hand to his lips and kissed the palm gently.

Remus made a small noise, his mouth open, staring at Sirius, eyes wide and dark in the flickering light. Then his hand moved to caress Sirius' hair, sliding around to cup the back of his neck as he pulled Sirius towards him.

"Kiss me again, Pads," he whispered against Sirius' lips, and they were in each other's arms.

And then they were on the floor in a sprawling heap, arse over tit as the chair rocked back and crashed onto the linoleum.

"Ouch! Fuck!" Sirius's bruised toes had taken a second hit and he rolled onto his back, clutching his foot.

"Pads! Jesus, are you OK?" Remus was on his knees, taking Sirius' foot, pulling off the sock and examining his toes, bending them experimentally. "Does this hurt?"

"Tickles!" Sirius giggled breathlessly, and Remus grinned. Fuck, he'd be playing "this little piggy" next.

An altogether sultrier look slid across Remus' face. "Or I could kiss them better…" he whispered, taking Sirius' injured big toe into his mouth and sucking it. Sirius gasped, shocked by the warmth and wetness of Remus' mouth.

"Moony…" he panted, watching that long tongue and feeling himself get hard again as Remus licked a line up his foot to his ankle, staring down at him, amber eyes heavy-lidded. Damn but that stuff Winston had put in the biscuits was good. Perhaps he could spike all of Remus' food with it?

Sirius stretched out his arms and Remus crawled up his body. He paused at Sirius' swollen crotch on the way, nuzzling the erection straining Sirius' jeans in a moment of uninhibited wolfishness, an expression of bliss on his face as he pressed his nose in and sniffed deeply. Sirius writhed and moaned, pressing himself up into Remus' face, almost sobbing.

"Better not, not after that vindaloo of Winston's…" he heard Remus mutter as he abandoned Sirius' groin and crawled up to cradle his face.

Sirius arched up, biting Remus' lip gently. Remus' tongue pressed his mouth open as his leg slid between Sirius' thighs. Someone was whimpering but Sirius was too far gone to tell which of them it was. He gripped Remus' arse in both hands, pulling him down roughly and thrusting against him. Remus moaned desperately, bruising his lips with frantic kisses. Their tongues twined and thrust, hips bucking as they rubbed together. Jesus, he was burning, melting, it was too much, too intense, he was going to…

"Fuck Moony, fuck, I'm… oh gods, _yes_!" And he was coming in his jeans, hot and wet and brilliant as he ground against Remus, jerking convulsively. Remus loomed over him, hips moving insistently as he stared with dark, dilated eyes down at Sirius shuddering beneath him. They collapsed into a tighter embrace, Remus' face pressed into his dishevelled dark hair as he lay on the floor, limp and panting.

"Sorry, fuck… I'm sorry Moony… I couldn't help it…"

Remus pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down at him, his eyes shadowed, licking his lips and tracing the angle of Sirius' cheekbone with one long finger. "Don't be. Gods, I'd give anything to see you come. Your face…"

Sirius laughed, breathless, and turned quickly, catching the finger and kissing then biting it gently, with a soft growl.

"My turn now, or rather, yours." He wrapped his arms around Remus and rolled him onto his back, pressing wet kisses down his throat.

His hand was on Remus's fly, undoing the button and pulling the zip down. Remus groaned as his cock emerged, bulging hard under Sirius' hand through the soft cotton of his underpants. With another growl, Sirius slipped his hand under the waistband, grasping Remus' hot, trembling shaft. Remus made a helpless noise and thrust into his fingers.

"Yes Moony, fuck you feel so good, so fucking good…" He slicked his thumb in the sticky wetness on the head of Remus' cock then rubbed it around the crown and down the underside.

Remus arched sharply back, his head hitting the floor with a small thud as his hips bucked up into Sirius' grip. He muttered incoherently and writhed as Sirius milked him with hard strokes, sliding his thumb across the flared head once, then again, and then with a hoarse cry, Remus spasmed and came.

Sirius leaned over, watching Remus' eyelids flicker as he spilled into his hand. The golden eyes were closed and his face was pulled into a rictus of ecstasy. He looked like some mediaeval saint: so fucking hot. He bent his head into the crook of Remus' neck and licked his throat, holding Remus tight in his arms long after he had stilled and his breathing quietened.

Finally Remus stirred. "I got you all sticky," he whispered, a little embarrassed.

Sirius lifted his head and smiled, rubbing his nose affectionately against Remus'. "Yeah, it was great. Can you do a _Scourgify_ Moony? You know I'm pants at cleaning."

"Really?" Remus raised one eyebrow. "From the state of the flat, I'd never have guessed." He _Accio_ed his wand and cleansed them both.

They scrambled up, setting the chair to rights and straightening the mat.

Sirius stretched, yawning hugely. "Bedtime, I think." He shot Remus a sidelong glance. Sure enough, his friend was looking awkward and turning away towards his room, shoulders hunched. He reached out and caught Remus by the arm, pulling him back and stepping in close, hands on his shoulders.

"Let me sleep with you, Moony. Please. I know we need to talk but I can't right now, I'm too wasted. But I want to hold you."

"Pads, I… it's all a bit quick… I don't know…"

"No messing about, I promise. We'll both wear PJs. But I can't be in the next room with that stupid fucking wall between us, not after that – _please_."

Remus looked down and then met his gaze, a little shy. He grinned and rubbed the back of his head. "No, you're right, that'd be weird. All right, PJs it is then."

They made the usual preparations for bed, Sirius trying to be quick in case Remus lost his nerve. But Remus was waiting quietly, lifting back the covers so that he could slide into bed beside him. The light was snuffed with a quick _Nox_ and Sirius snuggled in, sighing contentedly as Remus curled around his back, one arm across his waist, pulling him close.

"This is nice," he muttered drowsily. "'Night, Moony."

He felt a soft kiss on the back of his neck. "Goodnight, Pads."

_________________________________________

 

Remus hunched further into his coat as he crossed the road, heading back home from the library. The traffic was bumper to bumper – it always was on Fridays around lunchtime. He narrowly missed being knocked for six by a speeding van, preoccupied as he was with tonight's outing.

It was the Bludgers' debut performance, and he was damned if he was going to wear sensible beige and grey. But he couldn't dress up as a punk either – it just wasn't him. On Sirius it was hot, but Remus knew he'd just look like something invented to deal with a Boggart. And he doubted there would be Boggarts at the Camden Lock in dire need of banishing.

He pushed open the door of the second-hand shop under the flat. An elderly woman with mauve pin curls was pottering about, straightening a rack of men's trousers in preparation for closing.

"Hello Vi – had a busy morning?"

She turned and beamed at him. Remus was always a hit with the older generation – it was the same at the library. Probably the cardigans, he thought glumly; they saw him as a potential recruit for the bowls team.

"Remus, luv. No, very quiet today. Just a few young fings looking for accessories to punk up their outfits."

Remus laughed. "I wouldn't have thought this was the place to come for the cutting edge, Vi. No offence, but you keep me well supplied with librarian beige."

"It's not 'ow new the fings are, it's what you do with 'em Remus. I could turn you into a right 'ottie with a few well-selected items, don't you worry."

"Yeah? Well I have to go out with Sirius tonight to a punk rock concert, and I haven't a clue what to wear. I can't do the whole Mohican and studs thing, but I can't wear…librarian. I'm stumped, Vi."

She toddled over and stood before him, hands on hips. "Turn around, there's a good boy."

Amused, he did a brief twirl.

"You've got very nice legs, you need to show 'em off a bit more," Vi muttered, considering him through narrowed eyes as he blushed. "And that hair o' yours don't need much – we'll just fluff it up a bit an' you'll be fine. Yes, I know what would work, you just wait there." She bustled away to poke about in the racks of men's clothing, returning to thrust an armful at him. "'Op into the change room, luv, and let's see 'ow that looks."

Remus took the items dubiously but did as he was told. Once he'd pulled the curtain across, he examined her selections. Hmmm. The black jeans were reasonable, if a bit tight. Vi had also selected an ochre coloured t-shirt which was innocuous enough and went with his eyes, and an old-fashioned, black gentleman's waistcoat. He put on the t-shirt and waistcoat, then slipped his slacks off and tried the jeans. He had to jump up and down a couple of times to get them on over his hips and only just managed to fasten them. Remus tucked the t-shirt in and looked in the mirror – Christ, those jeans were tight, they left nothing to the imagination. He swallowed, and peered over his shoulder. Oh fuck. His arse was on full display; he looked like a… like a rent boy or something. Bloody hell.

He emerged feeling decidedly foolish, flushing as Vi let out a wolf-whistle. "Oh yes, very nice my luv, if I do say so meself. You'll be beating 'em off wiv a stick tonight and no mistake."

"Vi, I don't know... it's a bit…"

"Well I _do_ know Remus, luv, so just trust your aunty Vi and be a good boy. Wot about yer feet? You can't wear them fings."

He looked down at his sensible brown lace-ups. "No, I suppose not. I don't have much else that's OK for winter though."

Vi was already over at the shoe shelves however, muttering as she rummaged. She thrust a pair of black elastic-sided boots at him. "Try these."

They were half a size too big, but he could wear thicker socks. "Yes, they fit all right."

"Now, a jacket." Vi pulled a black leather jacket off a rack and held it out. It fit well, and he ducked inside the change room to check the full effect.

"You'll do." Vi grinned from under his arm, peering up in satisfaction.

Remus looked at the strange creature in the mirror. He looked… sexy. There was no other word for it.

"'Ang on a mo'". Vi ferreted about under the counter. "Shut yer eyes, luv." An icy hissing and the scent of hairspray. "Now muss yer hair up, go on, run yer fingers through it. Lovely."

Christ, his thick hair was now sticking out chaotically. It looked good though, with the outfit. "How much do I owe you for all this, Vi?"

"Two quid the lot, luv."

He pulled out his wallet: he could just afford it. "Cheap at the price. Thanks for the makeover Vi, I'd have been lost without you."

Vi grinned. "Just you use it well, luv. Sirius won't be able to keep his 'ands orf you."

Remus blushed furiously. "Vi!"

She cackled, grabbing her coat and handbag and tying a scarf over her mauve curls. "Oh garn Remus, I've seen the way you boys are togevver. You both need a boot up the arse. Life's for living, you'll realise that when yer my age. So get stuck in – and have a luverly evening." She waved goodbye and pulled the door to, leaving Remus to plod upstairs and have lunch then change back into librarian-boring. Sirius was out helping the band get ready for their performance and it would be fun to surprise him later on, after work.

***

In the end Sirius didn't get to see Remus' new look before the show. He came bounding up the stairs all sweaty from heaving amplifiers into Spike's van, and pulled Remus into an excited embrace. The moment their lips connected it was as though a switch had been thrown, magnetising them both so that they slammed together in a helpless clinch, hands clutching and backs arching, thrusting with their hips as they sucked each other's kisses, breathless and groaning, sliding down to the floor and rutting there together, coming with no more stimulus than the pressure of their hard cocks grinding against each other through several layers of clothing.

"Jesus Pads, d'you think we could do this somewhere other than the floor at some stage?" Remus panted afterwards, lying on his back with Sirius draped boneless across him, chuckling into his neck.

Perhaps it was because tomorrow night was the Full, Remus thought afterwards, lying back in the bath Sirius had left for him to share after dashing off again to help the others set up at the venue. He had always found it hardest to manage his longing for Sirius immediately before a full moon. Certainly he had always needed to touch himself then, stroking himself to a desperate release in his small bedroom, his moans muffled by the pillow and his head filled with fantasies of Sirius' hand touching him in just that way until he shuddered and came.

They had talked about the Full, and there would be plenty of time tomorrow after the gig to get themselves to Hogsmead via Floo and then slip into the Shrieking Shack before moonrise, which wasn't until after dark. Luckily it was the weekend so Remus wouldn't have to ask for any sick leave from the library, and the band planned some downtime after the performance.

Remus sighed. They hadn't seen James and Lily for a while, and this weekend was out, of course. Maybe in a week or two. He missed them, but everyone was busy, living their separate lives. He must owl them more, he'd been remiss.

The water was getting cold so Remus dried himself off and put on his new finery. He hadn't washed his hair, so he ran his fingers through it again a few times to restore that attractively mussed-up look. Sirius had teased him about it earlier, but he'd managed to pass it off as sex-hair.

He hoped Sirius would like the new clothes and boots, but as he waited outside the door to Winston's flat after knocking, he felt a little nervous. It would be loud and crammed with people tonight, and Remus wasn't at his best in crowds.

Winston did a satisfactory double-take after opening the door.

"Remus, mon, wotcha done wit yourself? Wow. Lookin' good there, mon, mighty fine threads!"

He winked, and Remus blushed a little, pretending an interest in Winston's leather boots.

"Yeah, well, just trying to… you know… blend in a bit." He looked up at Winston, grinning. "You look pretty fine yourself Winston, I must say."

Winston's shoulder-length dreadlocks were tucked into a large cap knitted in broad red, green and yellow stripes. He had a dangling metal earring in one ear shaped like some sort of leaf and several gold studs and rings in both ears. He was wearing a thick gold chain around his neck and a tight black t-shirt with jeans, and looked nothing like an accountant.

Winston flashed him a white smile then grabbed up a jacket and they headed for the Tube station.

_________________________________________

 

Where was Remus? Sirius stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd impatiently. He'd insisted on coming with Winston as he'd never been to the pub before so he couldn't Apparate directly into the back courtyard. Sirius had made sure they had passes for the bouncers, as the place was getting busy, although it was unlikely to be really packed as all the bands were relative unknowns.

The first band was playing and the Bludgers were next on, waiting at a table near the stage. Spike had limited them to one beer apiece until they'd done their set. Sirius looked back at the dais where a group called Grinder were producing a cacophony of sound. For no very clear reason their lead singer was dressed as a punk Spiderman.

"Hey mon, greetings!" Winston waved and came pushing through the crowd towards him, but where was Remus? There was a tall, hot-looking man with Winston, his head down as he edged between heaving clusters of people. But surely, it couldn't be? Fucking hell.

Sirius realised his jaw had fallen open and shut it smartly. Winston clapped him on the shoulder but he only had eyes for Remus, who looked as though someone had poured him into the black jeans, and with the boots and leather jacket, sweet fucking Merlin. Remus took the jacket off and hung it over the chair Sirius had been using, on top of his own. And hello, that waistcoat was pretty fucking cute too. Remus straightened up nervously, smiling at Sirius and running a hand through his hair.

"Ah, hi there. Vi found me a few things from the shop." He looked around, startled, as a tall thin man with a bright blue Mohican pushed past holding two brimming beer glasses up above the jostling crowd. "Er, well, I hope I dressed appropriately."

It was all Sirius could do to stop himself grabbing Remus and kissing him hard on the mouth in front of everyone. He stepped forward and Remus' eyes widened. _Yeah, yeah, no embarrassing displays of public affection, I know.___

Sirius took Remus' arm and leaned in close. "You look fucking edible," he growled, longing to grab Remus' arse in those super-tight jeans and uncomfortably aware that his crotch was already under some pressure. Remus blushed crimson and bit his lip, and Sirius had to look away, swallowing hard, fighting down the urge to grab him, drag him out to the back courtyard and have him up against the wall. He took a deep breath. "Come and meet the band."

They found an extra couple of chairs without Jock having to forcibly evict anyone and Sirius introduced Winston and Remus to his friends. Munter was positively drooling, giving Remus the eye until Sirius kicked his leg hard under the table with a warning look. _Mine._ Munter raised his drink to Sirius and winked, acknowledging the prior claim.

Then it was time for their set, everyone bustling to organise their gear, plugging in leads and microphones while Munter and Spike did last-minute tune-ups.

Spike gave the nod, the drums crashed and they powered into their first number, a full-on rant aimed at catching the noisy crowd's attention. Sirius grabbed the mic, energised by Remus' presence in the crowd and the sheer excitement of performing live to an audience. The others were responding too, and he jumped and writhed, screaming the lyrics, totally caught up in the moment as the harsh beat pounded out behind him.

It seemed to go down well, with raucous applause after the last chords died away. Spike stepped forwards and told the crowd who they were. Sirius looked for Remus and found him on his feet, flushed and open-mouthed, staring directly at him with wide eyes. Gods, he looked so fucking sexy; Sirius felt his blood rushing south, which was not the best idea as he needed all his energy to perform. He dragged his gaze away from Remus and they crashed into the next song.

The final number was a particularly suggestive piece written by Munter, so it was nicely ambiguous as to the gender of the "Hot Thing" in the title. Sirius fixed his eyes on Remus and gave it his all, pounding out the sexy lyrics with thrusting hips, smouldering for all he was worth.

Remus looked stunned, licking his lips, his pelvis unconsciously moving in tandem with Sirius. Beside him, Winston was dancing with an attractive dark-skinned girl whose hair was a myriad of beaded braids. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

The song finished to thunderous applause and Sirius turned, triumphant, grinning at the other band members who were similarly wired and panting. Spike clapped him on the back and Munter pulled him into a shoulder-hug as Jock threw his drumsticks into the air and caught them expertly, shouting something that sounded like a Scottish war-cry.

He got back to Remus as soon as he could after helping cart the gear out to Spike's van. Coming in from the side entrance, he stood close behind his friend who was leaning against a pillar, and whispered in Remus' ear, making him jump.

"Did you like our music then?"

"Christ, Sirius, you nearly gave me a coronary. Yes, gods yes. It was… an experience."

Sirius pressed a little closer. The pub wasn't full but there were enough people so that they weren't especially obvious. He ran his nose down the curve of Remus' ear, one hand on his waist. "I want to take you home. Can't stand it any longer, seeing you dressed like that and not fucking you." His voice was low and rough.

Remus shivered and moaned softly, his head falling back onto Sirius' shoulder. "Jesus. Yes."

They grabbed their jackets, waving at Winston who was still dancing. Winston winked back, giving them the thumbs-up and clearly not intending to leave his new girlfriend. Sirius guided Remus towards the yard at the back, one hand on the nape of his neck. Remus nipped in to use the gents and Sirius leaned on the wall waiting for him, grinning at his bandmates who were settling back into their chairs again, drinks in hand. Munter stuck his tongue out and wriggled it suggestively and Jock made an obscene hand gesture, grinning broadly. Merlin, his friends probably thought they were both headed out the back for a quick shag. They'd get distracted though, and would just assume he and Remus had slipped away through the front door when they didn't return.

He glanced across the crowd, enjoying the spiky, multicoloured hair, weird piercings and leather. There was some jostling near the front door and a tall man with dark hair turned to curse at someone crowding him. Sirius stiffened: Rabastan, fuck. He peered across and glimpsed Bellatrix pushing her way out the front door, then Rabastan followed her and the door swung shut. Should he follow? But Mad-Eye had given him strict instructions just to keep a look-out, not to approach them.

There was a touch at his elbow and he turned to see Remus looking inquiring. Sirius dismissed the bloody Death Eaters from his mind and pushed Remus gently back into the toilet corridor, dragging him down to the courtyard doorway and out into the cold, still night.

The moon was rising, almost full. Remus looked up at it and shuddered, flexing his shoulders involuntarily, tall and shadowed, his hair a rough mane against the moonlit sky as he turned back towards Sirius, impossibly hot in his leather jacket and tight jeans.

Sirius suddenly found himself pinned to the brick wall, Remus' hands on his arse, his mouth hot and demanding.

"Did I ever tell you quite how much I like you in that punk outfit, Sirius?" Remus' voice was a low growl as his tongue slid wet down the skin of Sirius' throat. He took the collar in his teeth, shaking it a little. "And the collar is… particularly exciting."

Sirius moaned and bucked his groin into Remus' erection. "You can fucking talk, Mr Hot Thing. Ever since you arrived in that get-up I've wanted to rip it off you and just bend you over the nearest table."

Remus made a noise that was half-laugh and half-snarl, trapping his hands and imprisoning them in his own against the wall, beside Sirius' head. Gods, what had happened to his quiet friend? It must be the moon, finally releasing all that pent-up librarian lust. He licked Remus' jaw, then his mouth was claimed by another scorching kiss. Helplessly aroused, Sirius gave himself up, as Remus pushed a leg between his thighs and thrust against him, plundering his mouth.

Surfacing breathless from the kiss, Sirius took Remus' arm and dragged him behind a large stack of empty beer crates. "Not here, it smells bad. Come on, we're going home. And remember this spot, it's useful for Apparating, nice and private."

Remus flashed him a remarkably feral smile at the mention of privacy and looked about to push him up against the wall again so Sirius grabbed his arm tightly and Apparated them hastily back into their living room, not bothering to go via the alleyway as he knew the flat was empty.

It was dark, but before he could locate his wand and cast _Lumos_, Remus had pulled him into his arms again. Merlin, it had to be the moon that was making him so turned on. But there was no room for thinking now, nothing but Remus's hands on him, undressing him, stroking him, twisting in his hair as he kissed Sirius with a ferocity that would have been frightening if it hadn't been so fucking hot.

"Too many clothes – and these ridiculous pants are killing me…" Remus muttered.

He was half pulled, half carried into Remus' room, stripped of the rest of his clothes – except for the collar of course – and pressed down onto the bed as Remus wriggled out of his own clothing. The jeans defeated him and Sirius had to help pull them off, giggling while Remus cursed. Then Remus was naked and straddling him, lit only by the rays of the moon slanting in through a small window above the bed. Their cocks rubbed together wetly and both of them gasped as Remus slid down, pinning Sirius as he licked a slippery trail across his chest, taking Sirius' nipple in his mouth with a groan and running his tongue around it.

"Fuck, Remus, fuck!" Sirius arched up off the bed and Remus growled again, writhing on top of him and biting gently, his hands and mouth everywhere. Sirius' skin felt as though it were on fire and he pressed up helplessly, cock hard and throbbing. Remus slid further down and nosed his groin again, no jeans in the way this time, snuffling ecstatically in the crease of hip and thigh then, _oh sweet fuck_, closing his mouth over the head of Sirius' cock and licking the crown.

"Gods! Please Remus, oh please, oh yes…" His cock was in heaven, thrusting up into that warm, wet, busy mouth, quivering with need as Sirius fisted the bedcovers and tried not to ram himself forcibly down Remus' throat. It was better than anything he'd ever known. Better than any of the blow-jobs at Hogwarts, even Circe's expert ministrations fading into insignificance. Because these were Remus' lips around his swollen cock, Remus' fingers curled around his shaft as he tongued the frenulum and made Sirius sob with pleasure, Remus finally swallowing him whole and sucking hard so that Sirius' groin exploded, everything going white as he came and came into his lover's hungry mouth.

_________________________________________

 

Sirius kept an eye on the sky through the Three Broomsticks' windows. It was dusk, but not yet dark. They had taken a public Floo connection to Hogsmead after sleeping late and getting up even later. Sirius felt a warm flush suffuse his groin at the thought of what had kept them in bed most of the morning. His jaw still ached a little and he could almost taste Remus against his tongue again, silky and hot as he mouthed the vein pulsing along the underside of his cock. He bit back a whimper, needing to stay in control. Remus had gone beyond that delicious, animalistic stage now and was restless and irritable – as he invariably was in the last few hours before full moon.

"I just think we need to back off a bit," he muttered into his butterbeer, drawing loose spirals in a pool of spilled mead on the tabletop and not meeting Sirius' eyes. "It's moving a bit fast… too fast…"

Sirius sighed. "Now's not the best time to discuss it, Moony. You know you're always in a weird mood just before the Full."

"You just don't want to talk about it, you've been putting me off ever since… you know. Winston. The cookies." Remus shook his head like a dog worrying something, then fixed him with a predatory amber gaze, frowning.

Merlin. Sirius swallowed and bit his lip. Close to the moon, Remus was so unconsciously lupine and he mustn't find it hot, he really mustn't. Not a good idea.

"I think it's more important to talk about Bellatrix and Rabastan. Why are they hanging around the Camden Lock so much? I reckon they're up to something."

Remus shrugged and rolled his neck from side to side. His muscles always ached in the lead-up to the change. Not as badly as afterwards, of course, but enough to bother him. "You're obsessed with those bloody Death Eaters. They're in a band for Christ's sake, they were probably just catching the music."

"Yes, well, point taken. What if they recognised me? I mean, it's not much of a disguise really. Remus? You can still tell it's me, can't you?"

But Remus had been distracted by the Crup squatting at the feet of a warlock at the next table, his lips pulled back in a quiet snarl as he stared the animal down.

"Oi! Remus! Leave the nice doggy alone." Sirius tightened his hand on Remus' arm, reminding him where they were. "Come on, eyes front and centre."

Remus turned back to stare at him irritably. "What!"

"The Death Eaters. I reckon they're up to something. Spike said there's a big Battle of the Bands contest next Saturday at the pub. It'll be jam packed – loads more people than yesterday. I mean, if they were going to… do something… that'd be a good time to choose."

"Do what?" Remus stretched his arms out in front of him on the table, wincing, then took another drink.

"Well, _I_ don't know. Something _bad_, obviously. Hurt people. What Death Eaters _do_."

Remus frowned. "There's no evidence they're planning to do anything at all. You can't go running off to Moody with a half-baked hunch."

"No. Well, I told him that they were there last night, and you're right, he wasn't very interested. It's just… I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Really?" Remus eyed him sardonically. "You were crap at Divination, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah." Sirius knocked back the last of his mead. "Come on, drink up. It's pretty much dark out there, we should get going." He pulled on his cloak, grabbed their overnight bag from under the table and stood, leading the way out into the inky night. Remus joined him, and they trudged off towards the Shrieking Shack.

***

This part was always a little tricky. Remus hated him to watch the change, but he needed to know what was happening so as to transform into Padfoot as soon as Remus became Moony. Over the years they'd developed a system. Remus underwent the change upstairs, and Sirius waited below, ready to open the door and then change himself, as soon as he heard the wolf's claws clicking on the wooden stairs.

There: a faint whine and the soft scratch and thud of Moony descending. Sirius pushed the door a little open and transformed. Instantly the shadowy room fell into black and white and sharpened, allowing him to see the silver furred shape carefully edging down the stairs. Moony hated the steps – old bare wood, well-worn and slippery.

He moved forward, whining softly, his tail wagging furiously. Now it was easy, after the tense hours preceding the change. Moony reached the hallway and stretched luxuriously, then trotted over and they sniffed each other thoroughly. Good smell, friend, wolf, Moony.

The wolf sneezed and stretched again, then padded to the door, nosing it properly open and slipping through. Padfoot was close on his tail, scrambling down the front steps in the moonlight and then they were running, muscles flexing and rippling, bounding across the railway line, down a grassy slope and into the forest.

Everything blurred into sensation. It was all running and leaping, the wind ruffling their coats as they chased each other through the trees, doubling back to tease, yipping with excitement. Or wandering about, scent-marking trees and sniffing the intense forest smells: small rodents, the spoor of a unicorn, centaur dung. He could see quite well even in the depths of the forest, the full moon brilliant to his newly sensitive eyes, slanting through the trees like a searchlight. And he could hear everything; the forest hummed and rustled with life. They could have hunted and fed, but he'd made sure they both ate a good dinner at the Three Broomsticks to reduce the risk of Moony worrying the local farmers' sheep. Or hunting other prey.

Mostly they played. Chasing, racing each other, play-fights and gambolling. Finally flopping down exhausted in a moonlit clearing, Padfoot panting as Moony rolled in the leaves, legs kicking ecstatically. They rested a while, Padfoot's head on his front paws, Moony's raised, sniffing the night air as he quested lazily for interesting creatures nearby. Then the wolf stretched, front legs straight, hunkered back on his haunches, and flowed to his feet, ambling across to Padfoot, nuzzling the thick black fur around his neck, growling softly. Padfoot closed his eyes and rolled over, offering his belly and unprotected throat. He was used to this: Moony always established his dominance as the alpha at some stage during their full moon nights. The wolf stood over him, sniffing from ears to tail, then flopped down again. Padfoot righted himself and lay against his friend's flank, licking Moony's ruff until the amber eyes closed and a low rumble, almost a purr, emanated from the silver-furred throat.

They rested, and ran again, and finally when the trees were beginning to be silhouettes against a not-quite-black sky, they loped back to the Shack and nosed their way inside. This time they both climbed the slippery stairs, Moony leaping onto the bed and lying there, tense and whining occasionally, while Padfoot lay just outside the bedroom door.

Sirius waited until Moony's whines slid into human groans, then transformed and threw on sweats and a singlet. He sat beside Remus on the bed, checking him for injuries. Nothing major, thank Merlin. A few scrapes and bruises and the usual muscle soreness. He grabbed their bag, found some soluble aspirin and made Remus drink it, plus several cups of water. Then he helped his friend pull on a t-shirt and pyjama pants, climbed into the bed, drew the blanket up and curled himself around Remus' back, stroking his limbs gently and massaging his back muscles.

"Sleep a while Moony, I'm here, it's OK now."

***

"How are you feeling?" Sirius lay on his side, facing Remus, one arm across his waist.

Remus stared back at him, his face tired and his eyes bruised-looking.

"The usual. Sore. Was it...? Did we...?"

"Yeah, it went OK. No slip-ups." He pushed a lock of hair back from Remus' face. "Want a massage?"

Remus shut his eyes then opened them with an effort. "No, it's all right, the aspirin's helping."

"I don't mind-"

"I'd rather talk." Remus rolled his shoulders experimentally, wincing.

"Right, OK. About...?"

"You know. Us." Remus reached out and ran the back of his finger gently down the side of Sirius' face, then dropped his arm as though it weighed a ton, before Sirius could lean into the touch as he wanted to.

"Yeah, us. You were worried we were moving too fast."

"I, I don't know, Sirius. I guess I'm nervous, something of a coward." Remus closed his eyes again for a moment. "It's just that you've tended to be...easily distracted in the past - you know? And, and... I don't think I could bear it if... But of course you will, I'm being stupid, it can't last." He rolled onto his back, one arm across his eyes, and stretched his legs gingerly, sighing.

Sirius pushed himself up on one elbow, the better to stare Remus down. "What you are is completely incomprehensible and talking a load of complete, unmitigated bilge. I'm not going to leave, you idiot. Look at me!"

Remus took his arm away and gave him a sidelong glance.

"That's right. This is me, and I'm not going anywhere. Not. I haven't put up with you all these years to bugger off at this stage you daft prat."

Remus made a vague noise of disagreement or doubt, but Sirius brushed it aside. "Yeah, I know all the old shit - you're a monster, blah-de-blah. Well, I'm not exactly the poster-child for well-balanced myself, in case you hadn't noticed, but I know one thing." He rolled onto Remus, straddling his body carefully, not putting any weight on the sore limbs. "I've wanted you for years, ever since I started wanting anyone. The only reason I've had the odd fling with other people is because you didn't want _me_. This, what's happened with us lately, it's fucking wonderful Remus, it's what I've always dreamed of."

Remus looked dazed. "But I _did_ want you, it was always you. I just couldn't, I just knew it wouldn't..." He swallowed painfully and tried to cover his eyes again, but Sirius restrained him gently, pressing his wrists to the pillow on either side.

"Well, you knew wrong if you thought I wasn't serious about you. There's nothing I care more about than you, Moony, nothing." He leaned in and brushed his lips against Remus', feather-light, then kissed the corners of his mouth, his jaw, his brow, his eyes. "I'm not," (kiss) "going," (kiss) "anywhere," (kiss) "all right?"

"I - all right Pads... I don't know what to say. I've wanted you too, so much… Oh Christ, yes..."

Sirius was kissing his neck, and behind his ear. But Remus was in no shape for sex right now, so he reined himself in and focussed on that wide, soft mouth again. How he loved that mouth. He ran his tongue around Remus' lips and Remus opened for him, arching back a little, his eyes falling shut with a soft moan.

"Oh Moony, gods, yes, this, you, this..." Sirius was lost, muttering incoherently into his lover's mouth, wet and sweet and soft with the beginnings of arousal, and it was enough, it was perfect, it was everything.

_________________________________________

 

"Well, fuck." Sirius banged into the flat and slumped down at the kitchen table, drumming his fingers irritably on the cheap Formica surface.

"Told you he wouldn't take you seriously." Remus was drinking tea and reading a book from the library again, something called "The Thorn Birds". About some sort of magical creature he'd never heard of, Sirius supposed, not very interested compared to the far more crucial problem of getting Mad-Eye bloody Moody to take his gut feeling about the Death Eaters and this Saturday's Battle of the Bands seriously.

"He's got no vision, that man. I mean, he's supposed to be paranoid - ha! He said _I_ was the paranoid one. It's because we're just out of school, he doesn't take us seriously. Well, he doesn't take _me_ seriously, you've always had a lot more credibility. Prefect and all that. Responsible."

Remus glanced across at him. "Oh, what? You can't be serious? No, I'm not going to talk to him, he terrifies me!"

"Oh come on, he's just Moody. He'd take you more seriously than me, I know he would."

"But I didn't _see_ anything Sirius. And that eye of his bothers the hell out of me. It makes me nauseous with all that jumping around."

"Oh, that's nothing, you soon get used to it. I know you didn't see them there, you were in the loo. But you could, I don't know, _vouch_ for me or something. Please Moony, come and see him with me? _Please?_"

"Stop doing the damn puppy-dog eyes Sirius. Hell. Oh all right – it won't work though."

***

"So he's dragged you along to help him with this nonsense, has he?" Moody limped irritably around the living room at Headquarters.

"Er, yes, I suppose." Remus swallowed, his mouth dry. Sirius was out in the hallway, laying low.

"Think there's anything in it?"

The eye was gyrating wildly, but why? They were inside, there was nothing that needed such frantic surveillance, surely. Maybe it did that when Moody was in a really bad mood. Like now. Remus tried not to look at it, but it was like telling yourself not to think about a pink elephant. Hopeless.

"I think he definitely saw them at the pub, Sir, on two occasions. I, well, I guess it's possible that they're planning something, and it _is_ a special event this weekend. Have they, I mean, are there reports that Death Eaters have done anything like that before? Some public spectacle, hurting Muggles?"

Mad-Eye snorted and stomped to and fro, hands clasped behind his back, looking like an insane, long-haired version of Winston Churchill. All he needed was a cigar clamped between his teeth.

"Yes. They've done it before. It got passed off as the IRA."

"Oh." Remus blinked, surprised. "Oh, right. Well, there's always the chance of catching them, isn't there, Sir, if they turn up again? Even if they're not planning anything." Privately he thought that an attack on the Camden Lock pub was vanishingly unlikely. "I mean, Sirius and I might be able to disarm one or two of them, but we'd need some help to take on three or four if the whole band's there. I mean, Sirius and I will be there anyway: it's possible his band may play."

"Troll turds! You're just kids, you shouldn't have to be caught up in any of this!" Moody's eye was going crazy as he paced about in an agitated manner, muttering. "Oh all right! I'll come and I'll bring someone else as back-up."

Sirius burst in, trying to suppress a grin. "Great! Thank-you! Eight o'clock at the Camden Lock then. Saturday. Bye, Sir!" He grabbed Remus and dragged him off down the hall, keen to escape in case Mad-Eye changed his mind.

Once they were outside he hugged Remus impulsively. "Yes! The Remus touch, never fails."

Remus shook his head. "Jesus, Sirius, this is a no-win situation. Either there'll be no Death Eaters and a pissed off Moody, or the Death Eaters'll turn up and we'll all have to try and disarm and capture them. Why in hell did I let you talk me into helping you?"

"Because you're my friend, Remus." Sirius clasped his arm and Apparated them to the alley across from the flat. He pressed Remus up against a brick wall beside the back entrance to the Happy Lucky Horse Restaurant, grinning. "And who knows, there might be a blow-job in it for you."

_________________________________________

 

Remus had just put on the last of what he now thought of as his "Bludgers outfit", when he heard a knock at the door. It was Winston.

"Mon, am I glad I caught you. Can I come in?"

Remus gestured him in. "Yes, sure Winston, but what?-"

"It's me mudda. She called me." Winston was pacing about restlessly.

"Oh. Um, I hope she's all right… Ah, Winston?"

"Yeah, yeah, mon, she be fine." Winston stopped and glanced around the living room. "Where's Sirius?"

"He's gone on ahead, to the Camden Lock. He had to help the band load their gear. Well, they're not sure if they'll be performing tonight, it depends how the play-offs go. It's like a competition, a lot of bands…" He trailed off. "Why?"

Winston flopped down into an armchair and stared up at Remus. "Me mudda had a message from the spirits. About you boys. She called me special, to tell me to pass it on."

Remus lowered himself carefully into one of the chairs. "Oh. I'm guessing it wasn't good news?"

"No mon, it be a warning." Winston leaned forward, frowning. "Spirits say there be blood, much blood."

Remus swallowed. "Right. Blood."

"Many people killed, lotta blood."

"Jesus." Remus felt a trickle of icy sweat roll down his spine. "Oh Jesus, Sirius." He lurched to his feet. "But there must be, it must be…" He fought down the rising panic and tried to get a grip. "There must be some way to, to stop it, to change…" He gestured desperately at Winston.

"Nothing be definite yet, but it will be soon, 'less we do sup'm"

"Yes, do something. Have to…" Moody would be there any time now, with back-up. But with just the four of them there, the odds didn't seem that great. He had to do something else. What would a Muggle do?

Pulling on his leather jacket, Remus jammed his wand into the inside pocket, not caring if Winston saw. He knew about them anyway. "I have to get over there now, to stop this. I need you to stay here, Winston and call the police for me. Tell them…I don't know, that it's a bomb scare or something. Use the public call box on the street and tell them you're going to blow the pub sky-high unless they evacuate it immediately."

"Oh, mon, I dunno. They ain't goin' to believe in any damn _Jamaican_ bomb-plot. That be more like IRA fuckery, not the Ja way."

"Well, do a goddamn Irish accent, _please_ Winston, just get down there and call them."

"Yeah, OK, mebbe I can: 'Dere's a bomb at the Camden Lock pub an' we're after blowin' it up' – you tink mon?"

"Yeah, yeah, that was great! Thanks Winston, gotta dash." And, in for a penny, Remus Apparated away right under Winston's surprised nose.

_________________________________________

 

Remus stumbled against a grimy wall behind the stack of beer crates, briefly disoriented by the stark contrast between the flat's cosy living room and the cold, dark courtyard. Then he was running for the open back door from which crowd noise, music and golden light leaked into the night.

He dashed down the toilet passage and was about to open the door to the pub itself when a red flash sizzled past his ear and blew a chunk of yellowed plaster out of the wall next to the door.

His wand was in his hand and he was pivoting, screaming "_Expelliarmus!"_ even as he saw the wild hair and recognised Bellatrix at the courtyard door. Shit, she must have Apparated in right behind him.

She arched back, her wand flying off and clattering on the flagstones somewhere as she disappeared, but he was already pulling open the door and lurching through into a heaving mass of bodies.

Sirius, Sirius, where the hell was he? Remus' head swivelled frantically. There – with the band at a table near the back. No sign of Moody though. Oh Merlin, please let him be here, let him not be late.

He pushed his way desperately through the thick press of people, earning angry exclamations and elbowings as he went.

"Sirius!"

Sirius turned, grinning in welcome, then frowned, getting to his feet in response to Remus' obvious agitation. "What? Remus, you look-"

"Yeah, come on." He grabbed Sirius by the arm, muttering an apology to the band members as he dragged him off towards the front foyer. Let them think it a lover's tiff, whatever.

"Remus! What the fuck? What's going on?"

It was a little quieter here, but still full of punters arriving. Someone was arguing with the bouncers at the door and people were pushing past Sirius and Remus. Every time the doors opened they were flooded by waves of crashing sound from the stage. He pulled Sirius close and spoke into his ear.

"You were right – something's going to happen. Winston warned me."

"Winston? What-?"

"His mother sent a message, you know, her visions. I got Winston to call the police, but we have to try to stop them anyway. The Death Eaters."

Sirius' eyes were wide. "I knew it! What's going to happen, what are they planning?"

"I don't know, the spirits were pretty damn vague. Just stuff about blood and a lot of people dying."

"Fuck." Sirius looked wildly around.

"Yeah, fuck is right. We have to find Moody – is he here?"

"I haven't seen–"

But Remus had noticed that the man arguing with the bouncer was Frank Longbottom. Behind him, Mad-Eye shifted impatiently, his roving eye concealed by a glamour. As Remus watched and Sirius turned towards the door, Moody stepped forward and leaned in close.

"You want to let us in, young man. You know we have tickets."

The bouncer, not in fact all that young and built like a brick shithouse, looked momentarily dazed. "Yes," he said, as though his tongue was having difficulty forming the words. "Yes, these tickets are fine. In you go then, gents."

Frank and Moody pushed past him and the bouncer blinked and frowned briefly, then turned back to the door and began an altercation with a short, busty woman draped with a lot of chains, her head shaved except for a central peroxided crest.

"Moody – Sir." Remus grabbed Mad-Eye's arm and pulled him off to one side. Frank and Sirius pressed in close to listen.

"They're here, Sir – Bellatrix tried to hex me near the back door."

Sirius gasped, and grabbed Remus' arm. "No! Remus are you–?"

"I'm fine, she missed. I disarmed her and ran for it, but she'll be back." He turned back to Moody. "I had a warning – it's going to be bad tonight unless we can stop them."

"A warning?" Moody frowned.

"A friend – his mother's skilled in… Divination, a Seer. She had a vision. Blood, many deaths, that sort of thing."

"Merlin," breathed Frank. "And you believe her?"

"I've got no reason to think she'd lie to us – I can't explain and there's no time, but she's outside all of this, she just wants to help."

"But you've got no details, boy?" Moody was gruff. "No idea what they're planning?"

"No, I'm sorry Sir, I don't know."

Moody turned away, muttering.

"We can split up and look for them," Sirius suggested. "It may be just the four who are in the band–"

Moody stopped him with a raised hand. "Give me a moment, I need to cast a reconnaissance charm." He closed his eyes, concentrating, murmuring softly. After a long minute in which Sirius jiggled impatiently, rolling his eyes at Remus who felt just the same but managed to contain his impatience, Moody resurfaced.

"Erumpent horn. There are three caches. One of the bastards is with each cache. They plan to set detonation spells then Apparate away."

"Shit," said Frank concisely. "Could you see who–?"

"No. Just that they were wizards or witches, with the Mark. We can assume Bellatrix is one–"

"It'll be Rabastan and Rodolphus, I bet. Or that other git, the drummer." Sirius was positively vibrating.

Moody straightened his shoulders, coming to a decision. "Right, this is how it's going to go. There's one cache in a yard at the back near the exit door. I'll take that. Frank, there's a cache close by, aimed at blocking the main entrance. It's in one of these storage rooms." He gestured at several closed doors along the hallway. "And you two. There's a cache behind the stage. Can you get access back there?"

Sirius nodded vehemently. "Yes, I've got passes, being in one of the bands. We'll deal with that one." He glanced at Remus, who nodded. It was bloody dangerous but there was no choice.

"And be careful," Moody warned as they all turned to go. "They've got it set not just to explode, but to catch fire. They mean to burn the place down and trap the Muggles inside. So no incendiary jinxes."

***

Sirius heard the sirens as they were feeling their way across the back of the stage behind a thick curtain. He stopped, and Remus stumbled into him, cursing softly.

"What's that?"

"The Muggle Police. I asked Winston to phone in a bomb scare to evacuate the place."

"Damn. I hope they don't interfere with Frank before he can deal with his cache."

"Yeah, hope not. But we can't handle the Muggles as well as locating the explosives. It's better that they're evacuated, you know, just in case…"

"Yeah." Sirius tried not to think about that. His fingers encountered a raised edge. "Wait, there's a door here. Some old store-room or cupboard." He was about to turn the handle when he felt Remus' hand on his shoulder.

"Wait." Remus pulled him back hard so that they were pressed together, his head in Sirius' hair. "I love you," he whispered.

Sirius blinked rapidly, putting his hand up to cover Remus' and letting his head fall back on Remus' shoulder. "Yeah. Me too. Love you, I mean."

After a second Remus sighed and released him. "All right, open it."

Sirius turned the handle gingerly and the door opened. The room was nearly dark and seemed to be filled with junk. Old broken chairs, piles of boxes. There was a faint reddish glow from the far side of the room, behind a decrepit wardrobe with a smashed mirror. They split up and edged towards it from either side.

Rabastan crouched there, wand in hand, fiddling with the lid of a wooden box whose contents glowed deep red. He was facing Sirius.

_"Levicorpus!" _Sirius' spell struck Rabastan's chest and he was immediately hoisted into mid-air, dangling above the glowing box head down. But Rabastan had not dropped his wand and a bolt of green light shot from the tip.

The last thing Sirius heard before dropping like a stone was "_Avada Kedavra!_ "

"No!" screamed Remus, then "_Stupefy!"___

Rabastan went limp, twirling slowly anticlockwise, suspended by one ankle.

Remus peered into the dark corner. "Sirius! Oh Christ, Sirius?"

"Yeah, I'm all right." His friend scrambled to his feet, dust smeared down his black jeans. "His aim was off, being upside down like that. Missed me by a whisker. Merlin, that was close." He slumped onto a stack of old telephone directories, trying to stop his hands from shaking. "Let's get him down and we'll cast _Incarcerous_ to immobilise him."

Remus leaned against the wall, his legs weak. "Right, just give me a moment. Jesus Pads, I thought…"

Rabastan safely trussed up on the floor, they slid the lid back onto the red-glowing box and Remus took charge of it. Unsure how to explain a tied-up Rabastan to the Muggle police they left him there and went to find Moody and Frank. The pub was emptying, several officers trying to maintain calm and stop the crowd from panicking and jamming the front entrance. Sirius pulled Remus out towards the back, down the toilet corridor.

Moody was in the yard, kicking a rigid, petrified Rodolphus in the ribs. "Take more than a jumped-up Death Eater pup like you to hit me with a _Crucio_, Lestrange." He looked up sharply as they tumbled into the courtyard. "Ah, you're back. Find the cache?"

"Yes. Rabastan was there. We've got him tied up with an _Incarcerous_. He had this." Remus held out the box of Erumpent horn extract.

Moody grunted. "Yes, same as this piece of shit here." He took the box and stacked it on a similar object. "D'you know how Frank got on?"

"We didn't see him – the front foyer's jammed with Muggles and police so we didn't go out there. There's no sign of any fire or explosion though, so it looks as though he got to the cache in time. Um, about the police being here, Sir. I'm afraid that's my doing – I got a friend to call the cops before Apparating here tonight: I thought we might need the extra help. Hope I didn't mess things up."

"Probably just as well. Not as though _I_ can tell a crowd of Muggles what to do." Moody sighed and clapped Remus on the shoulder, turning towards Sirius. The glamour was gone, the eye rolling around wildly as though expecting a horde of Death Eaters to materialise at any moment.

"You boys did well. And Sirius: good call, this could have been very nasty. Just as well you badgered me to take it seriously."

Sirius swelled with pride, gaining at least an inch in height. "I… thank you." He tried and failed to suppress a huge grin. "So can we help with more missions from now on, me and Remus?"

Moody shrank the boxes of Erumpent horn down to matchbox size and slipped them into his pocket. He scratched his chin. "I'm sure I'll come to regret this, but yes, all right. You'll do exactly what you're told though, laddie. Hear me?"

"Sir!" Sirius was quivering with excitement.

"Merlin's Balls kid, it's not the damn army you're joining."

"No Sir, I mean Mad-Eye." Moody glowered at him. "Er, No Moody. Sir."

"Fucking hell." Moody ran a hand through his graying hair, already looking tired. "Come on, let's get these two tidied away."

_________________________________________

 

"Come to bed, Sirius, it's very late." Remus held back the covers, hoping Sirius had finally worn himself out after the evening's excitements.

The two captured Death Eaters had been Apparated to Headquarters and Frank arrived shortly afterwards. He'd located the third box of explosive but Bellatrix had escaped his hex and fled into the night, and there was no trace of the fourth member of the Death Eaters, the drummer. Still, a good outcome overall and Moody was pleased.

Sirius was still impossibly wired, pacing up and down the bedroom, gesticulating. The flickering candle beside the bed made him seem even more febrile. "Frank should have used an Unforgiveable, you can't mess about with Bella, she's the worst of the lot of them. Except for old You-Know-Who, that is. Damn, it's a pity she got away."

Remus sighed and got out of bed. "Sirius, you need to rest." He put his hands on Sirius' waist.

Sirius promptly grabbed him and spun him around in a victory dance. "We did it Moony! We're fully-fledged members of the Order now!"

"Yes, well done us. Now come and lie down." But Sirius showed no signs of settling. "Jesus, Sirius, I'll put a _Leg-Locker_ on you in a moment and tie you to the bed."

"Ooh, kinky." Sirius grinned and kissed Remus on the mouth with more energy than accuracy.

"Right – come here, you." Remus slid one hand into the thick dark hair behind Sirius' neck and immobilised him, walking him back until he was pressed against the wall. He tilted his head and captured Sirius' mouth, kissing him wet and dirty until Sirius' arms wrapped around him, tight, and they were both breathless.

"Oh gods. Yes." Sirius sounded as though he'd drunk half a bottle of Firewhisky. "More." His mouth found Remus again, hungry.

Remus felt as though his spine was liquefying. He pushed his hand down Sirius' pyjama pants and grasped his cock, already hot and hard, thrusting insistently up into his fingers.

Sirius made a wet, needy noise against his neck and bucked helplessly into his hand. "Please Moony, want you, please…"

"Sirius…" It was more groan than speech, forced from him by the feel of that hot, silky length curving in his hand, by the almost painful pleasure of his own erection thrusting into the curve of Sirius' hip.

Remus dragged Sirius over to the bed and pulled off their pyjamas, then pushed him across the bed, pinning him down and taking that willing mouth again. Sirius did something hot and complicated with his tongue, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to Remus' groin. Remus couldn't help himself: "Want to fuck you, want to be inside you…"

Sirius arched up against him, panting. "Yes, oh please yes, fuck me…" He clung to Remus, kissing his neck and licking along his collarbone, then added. "Do you know how? It's just I've never…"

Remus laughed and sucked on Sirius' ear then licked the soft skin behind it, making him shudder. "Nor have I. I've been doing some reading though…"

"There are books about it?" Sirius was incredulous. "Remus, you have to bring them home. This is important research!"

"Shall we try a practical experiment, then?"

"Gods yes! How do we, what do I–?"

"Turn over, yes, on your face. Wait , I need…" Remus felt about in the bedside cabinet, locating a small jar of ointment. He spread some on his cock, trying not to whimper. Jesus he was close, he had to try not to come too soon, But to see Sirius in the soft candle-light, laid out before him like a banquet: the curve of his pale back, the narrow waist, the perfect arse. So beautiful.

He slicked his fingers from the jar then put it aside. "I need to get you ready, Sirius. Lift up a little on your knees now."

Sirius eased himself up onto all fours, feeling utterly exposed. But it was also incredibly hot, and it was Remus. He gasped as he felt Remus slide the tip of one finger gently into him, pushing inside the tight entrance. It felt strange and he was momentarily overwhelmed by it all: kneeling before Remus, so wanton, his arse in the air, head braced on his forearms, the slick, insistent finger now pressing deeper inside him, the flickering shadows. He moaned and rocked a little as Remus slid another finger in beside the first. Gods that felt…it was so…oh yes, oh fuck. He was pushing back on Remus' hand now, trying to get the fingers in more deeply. It felt as though they were close to something, he needed them just a little further…oh sweet _fuck_ what was that? He gave a hoarse cry and Remus froze, worried.

"Don't stop, oh that's good, _fuck, _that's good."

Remus made a noise in his throat and finger-fucked him harder and Sirius felt himself become loose and needy as those fingers brushed something inside, flooding him with waves of white-hot pleasure.

"_Now_, fuck me _now_…"

Remus' thighs pressed against him and he felt his hips grasped then the firm, slippery head of Remus' cock pressed into him and pushed past the ring of muscle. He had thought he was ready but it hurt and he whimpered, tensing against the burning pressure.

Remus stopped immediately. "Pads? Is it too much? Are you OK?" Remus sounded desperate; his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping still.

"Wait, need a moment." He sucked in shallow breaths, head down, letting his body adjust, willing himself to relax. "OK, you can move."

Remus groaned and pressed in more deeply, wrapping one arm around his waist, curving over him. It still burned a little, but nowhere near as badly. He could feel their balls rubbing together, hear Remus's ragged breathing, his grunts of pleasure as he pulled back then slid in again. He noticed their shadows, rutting exaggeratedly on the wall opposite the candle. The small room smelled of beeswax and sex.

Then he couldn't think about anything except Remus' breath hot on his neck, his body anchoring Sirius to the now, the thick press and slide of his cock._ Oh, that was better, that was,…_"Yes, I, fuck Remus, oh you, you..." The third slow thrust was good, the fourth better, and then he lost count, aware only of the strong thighs and arms around him and the astounding intimacy of Remus impaling him so deeply, sliding inside him as they moved together, muscles and sweat and slick heat.

He was moaning hoarsely now and pushing desperately back onto Remus, unable to stop himself. Remus grabbed his hips and shifted position, and _fuck! Yes!_ That spot, he was hitting it on every thrust and Sirius grunted and shuddered and came so fucking hard he thought he'd burst a blood vessel.

Remus covered him possessively, holding him tight as his quivering legs gave way and biting the back of his neck, hips giving small, reflexive jerks in response to Sirius' orgasm. He shifted gears then, pulling back and fucking in harder, deeper, gripping Sirius' hips and driving him down onto the bed with frantic thrusts then stilling and rearing back, crying out his name. They collapsed in a sweaty heap; Remus kissed the back of his neck and rested his head there, his hair soft and thick on Sirius' shoulder-blade.

"_So_ much better than reading about it," Remus whispered.

They were still giggling as he rolled off and pulled Sirius into his arms.

"I want to do that a lot," said Sirius, sliding his hand around Remus' back to massage the nape of his neck.

"Mmmm, I think that can be arranged."

Sirius combed his fingers through the tapering ridge of fur down Remus' spine and Remus arched into the touch, letting himself be stroked. Sirius slid his fingers up, lifting the fur and Remus, now half-asleep, made that noise, the rumbling, throaty purr that Padfoot loved.

"My Moony," whispered Sirius drowsily, head pillowed on Remus' chest. "My wolf."

_________________________________________

_~Fin~_

 


End file.
